


Out of Reach

by livink



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky is well but not really, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Healing, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Steve running away from responsibility for a change, Steve tells Tony about dec 16 1991, Tony dealing with the loss of JARVIS, Unreliable Narrator, all of them have issues because who doesn't, friday is a baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21081074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livink/pseuds/livink
Summary: Tony’s 44, recovering from a heart attack in his childhood home all alone and if he doesn’t get the door, no one else will.For a while, he doesn’t get up. He hears the bell shrill two more times and he twists the knob open at its fourth echo.Steve Rogers stares at him on the other side.





	1. Truth Tag

When Tony leaves the compound, he doesn’t go back to the tower.

The tower is a mess. Bulks of metals and strings of wires entangled everywhere. He’s sure if he encounters them, he’ll be tripping into shards of reality. For all the bravado he puts on, he isn’t ready to face the carcass of JARVIS yet.

So he avoids the tower. Asks FRIDAY to take him somewhere else.

He has hundreds of properties where he can hide away from looking at his bots. His own creations, burning in curiosity about the wellbeing of their brother.

FRIDAY brings him to the old family mansion instead. Tony snorts because it’s funny how he’s trying to run but he’s guided back to his roots. He cannot blame FRIDAY. She’s still learning. She’s a baby.

So he steps inside. Says thank you to his AI and he doesn’t know how long he'd stood frozen in the middle of the living room, but when he comes to it, it’s breaking dawn and Tony’s flat, face down on the floor.

Something must have made him collapse. He puts his money on his heart, because bottles and glasses are absent. If it was –

A week ago, he’d be told what went wrong. Offered suggestions to make himself better.

Today, he’s wrapped in silence.

He doesn’t bother with his bags. Doesn’t care about the phone or the tablet. What uses are they when there are no one else on the other end of this line anyway.

He takes a shower. Gargles the sour from his mouth and brushes his teeth until they’re passable white. He picks at the electric shaver and he pauses. His hands shake and he focuses hard on his breathing, bringing a thumb to flip the switch on. Manually.

He’ll get used to this, he tells himself.

He’ll get used to it.

He shapes the van-dyke into perfection and stares at his reflection. There are bags under his eyes, nothing unusual. He has deepening wrinkles along his fake-smile lines. Lines across his forehead. There’s a scar on his temple. The plaster he put on in the compound over the bridge of his nose and he yanks at it until it strips off. Brown old blood freckled with old dead skin and the pinch between his eyes deepen when he takes in the spot of new blood growing on the wound.

He opens the medicine cabinet hosting the mirror, picks a cotton, slaps over his nose and he leaves.

Stepping out of the bathroom without thinking twice, he lets his feet lead him wherever they want.

He has memories of this place ingrained into his bones. He can walk blindly down the hallway if he has to. Dreams about the old physics equations and his first circuit board. Feel Howard’s fist colliding against his face, the taste of blood – thick and metal – on his tongue. All the other times he'd tried to break free.

The arms of Edwin Jarvis around his shoulders.

The feel of his clean pressed suit. His light cologne. His sad smiles.

The way he used to fuss over Tony.

That’s how Tony knew he’d perfected his first AI. When Just A Rather Very Intelligent System started fussing over him too.

He clutches his left pectoral as he goes down.

Knees like jelly and he cannot breathe.

His lungs burn when he breathes, his throat constricting and the ache builds and builds in his left breast until it’s harder to even think about breathing. For a few dreadfully long minutes, he thinks he's having his life literally squeezed out of him.

And he chokes on laughter because oh, he wants _that_. But that doesn’t erase the fact that it fucking hurts.

From his chest to his neck – Up and up it goes. And then down to his left arm. Squeezing.

And he must have passed out from the pain because it’s _all_ gone when he opens his eyes.

Yet, nothing happened.

He may as well have dreamt all of that if not for the fact that the strip of his heart's echo reads an anterior myocardial infarction when he'd dragged himself into the car and FRIDAY had ran series of tests on him.

“I suggest you go to a hospital, boss. Or I can call Dr Cho-,”

“No!” Not Helen Cho. Not so soon after –

“Boss, you need a proper medical care.”

Tony smiles at the audio system. The distress from his baby girl is somewhat consoling.

“I’m fine, FRI.” He reassures her.

“My algorithm says you’re not, boss.” She insists. He waves her shut with another apologetic reassurance. She’s made to worry about bigger things. He didn’t install the same code he did in –

Tony Stark’s well being is not coded to be her first priority. She’ll learn to ignore him soon enough. Just like everyone else.

He picks after his bags on his way into the mansion. He chooses the guest room. Feels like he’s one after all. And when he pulls out his phone, there’s 150 notifications staring at his face.

But none of them are from the people who matter to him.

So he turns it back off and he lies on the impeccably kept bed, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to run. Or how long he’s going to subject himself to the horror of this property; the worst amongst everything that he owns.

He should have sold it, he knows. But he couldn’t.

Just like he cannot do many other things in life. All the crucial ones, at least.

-

He’s in the fiftieth spiral down the gutter, drifting between reality and somewhere nasty, when the doorbell rings.

For a moment, he panics.

For a moment, he’s six with his parents away. If he listened hard enough, he could hear Jarvis opening the front door and then it slams on him.

He’s 44, recovering from a heart attack in his childhood home all alone and if he doesn’t get the door, no one else will.

For a while, he doesn’t get up. He hears the bell shrill two more times and he twists the knob open at its fourth echo.

Steve Rogers stares at him on the other side.

His boots precisely placed over the two footprints carved off the welcome mat and he’s clad in his civvies.

“We’re going to the hospital.” He says. The command of his Captain America voice stirring something nasty within Tony and he slams the door shut in his stern face.

He knows when he’s getting a panic attack. Hates when he does.

He recognizes the symptoms in the far end of his mind where he recognizes the algorithm for breathing – inhale, exhale – but that’s the part which gets addled. Smothered under mountains of anxiety until it all bursts and hot lava of panic rains down over everything else.

And he forgets to breathe.

He hears the banging on the door like a faraway echo. Steve calling his name angrily.

It makes him panic even more and he tries –

He tries _so hard _to breathe.

He refuses to pass out. He’s done passing out for the rest of the year. Two times in 24 hours-time span must be a new record. He’s not going for a third time.

It hurts to inhale. His chest still aches and his neck too. His left arm is completely numb but he’ll worry about that another time.

He focuses on the heavy slams over the wood.

Inhale – _slam, slam_ – Exhale.

Inhale – _slam, slam_ – Exhale.

He starts to hear his name more clearly now. Slowly, he begins to realise that it’s not anger but panic.

_“I’m okay.”_ He exhales.

_“I’m okay.”_ He recites to himself. Breaths after painful breaths until he’s able to say that louder.

Not only for himself but for Steve as well.

“I’m okay.” He yanks open the door. Steve’s clenched fist meets the air – white knuckles and sweaty brow lines – he looks stricken. “I’m not going to the hospital.” Tony glowers at him, eyes blurring as he sways on his footing, decidedly leaning against the heavy door to save everyone the trouble of seeing him go down. “I’m okay.”

Steve doesn’t take him to the hospital. But he calls Helen. Tony argues with her and she curses his thick headedness as she counterchecks him for a list of the symptoms, grumbling under her breath about stubborn geniuses as she corrects his initial diagnosis.

“It’s stable angina. But there’s an evident of an old MI here. Years old. It’s best if you get to the hospital, they’ll set you on DAPT, but if you’re still going to be difficult, I’d like to have some words with Steve in private, please.”

Tony drags himself to the guest room, falls face down the mattress and doesn’t bother to move.

He’s done.

-

“-ny? Hey. Tony?”

Not even ten minutes after, he’s shrugging off a squeezing hand of his shoulder. Disgruntled ‘ow’ slipping off his lips in carelessness, as his pain receptors recall the horror of yester-pain that squeezed his chest and ran him a couple of steps closer to death.

Steve’s apologizing when he turns around. The frown that had settled between his brows since he set his eyes on Tony is still there to greet him when he finally opens his eyes.

He slurs out a bunch of words, all tripping off his tongue from the highway in his brain. He thinks he’s asking ‘what you’re sorry for’ but his mouth has its own trajectory that he’s not pleased about.

Steve blinks owlishly at him so he swallows a couple of times and attempts again, “Why are you apologizing?”

Steve opens his mouth, then closes. Then opens again, “Honestly?” He seems to struggle on his feet before giving in and sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows propped over his knees as he cradles his head in both hands. “I don’t know. Everything? I’m just…,”

He shakes his head, sighing wearily and trails off.

Tony closes his eyes again and this time when he opens back, the morning sun is speckling burning patches over his wrinkled clothes and face.

By the time he rids himself off the cotton in his mouth, washes his skin off dried sweat, it’s eleven in the morning and he walks into the kitchen smelling toasts and eggs.

“Where did you get these from?” He mumbles, stabbing at the yolk and watching it ooze over a toast.

Steve places a cup of coffee on his left. “I met the gardener. He introduced me to the other employees.”

Tony stabs another yolk and watches it bleed like its brother. “What’re you doing here?”

“FRIDAY -,” Steve begins.

Tony doesn’t want to hear what he already knows. “Why are you_ still_ here?” He cuts Steve off, eyes trained on his plate. His question is followed by a few seconds of silence in which he swirls the sticky yellow of the egg, cuts the strawberries and toast too.

“I don’t want to go back.” Steve’s honesty pulls him out of his trance.

He places the fork and knife gently aside and laces his fingers together, elbows over the table top. “I thought you were _home_.”

“Didn’t feel like it for long.” Steve ducks his head. Voice muffled.

Tony pushes the plate away. Pulls the coffee in. He thinks he should say something. It feels like that too. But he got nothing. So he inhales the smell of caffeine and averts his gaze to the garden outside the kitchen.

Stark has never not been the richest.

The mansion expands half the size of the new avengers’ compound. Maria must have tried to imitate Versailles when she outlined the garden surrounding the ground.

They have a fountain in the back.

If you exit the kitchen door, walk straight and duck under the wall of bushes, you’ll see the true masterpiece.

Of course, there’s an easy and straight entrance to it. If you drive around the compound from the front gate, the southern gate opens to Maria’s proud creation. But Tony has always been a rebel in the heart. He likes the shorter cuts. A new solution, and all the adventures that come with it.

It’s his secret pathway.

Jarvis knew of course, but he pretended like he never did while Tony spent handful of his teenage nights away balled against the wide stone wall while the water splattered behind his neck, sprinkling him with stray drops that felt soothing to his turbulent heart then.

Now, as he idly stirs the steadily growing coffee in the cup, he wonders if that… magic, will still work the same.

“I can leave.” Steve offers. His knuckles white on his knees and Tony tries to glare them away. “You don’t have to.” He says. “Stay if you want. Or don’t. There are countless rooms in here, pretty sure you can have at least one.”

“Tony.”

He cringes. The sound of his name wrapped in Steve’s tongue is dangerous. Prickling him with guilt.

Steve notices it. Of course he does. Pinnacle of human perfection in not only physicality but mind as well. He turns away from Tony, stands up and lingers for a while at the doorway before he leaves.

-

In the evening, he walks into the living room and learns that Steve’s staying.

“I got pepperoni and cheese.” Steve waves at the pile of pizza boxes on the table. He’s already cozy in his love seat, sweat pants and old shirt with the TV on.

Tony reads the headline beneath the news reader as he takes a seat next to Steve. There are plenty of empty seats around but Steve made an effort to shift away, to make some space and Tony could use some warmth after spending days wrapped in cold, so he sits.

He’s picking at the pepperoni idly when Steve nudges him with an elbow under his rib and says, “Eat.”

His gaze is fixed on the TV when Tony turns to look at him. Two emptied pizza boxes by his side as he’s going through his third one.

The box which Tony had opened is untouched by Steve, only missing one slice which is still sitting in the makeshift paper plate torn out of the box's lid in his hand. His stomach shrivels in itself and he places the slice back into the box.

“Not hungry.” He grunts, hiking legs up onto the coffee table and sinking into the couch as his mind wanders on its own while his eyes stay half-lidded, trained on the TV.

Moments later, Tony feels the love seat shift as Steve walks away. He picks at the remote to have something to do with his hands but ends up simply flipping it over and over until his company returns with a mug of something.

When Steve doesn’t reclaim his seat, Tony looks up at him.

“It tastes the closest to my memory.” He nudges the mug in Tony’s direction. “You have to get something in or Helen will insist on hospitalizing you.”

Tony loops fingers around the mug’s handle and brings it closer for inspection. A sort of green concoction that reminds him DUM-E’s smoothie. He feels himself heave.

“I shouldn’t have ordered the pizza considering your heart… Well. But you have to get something in there, Tony.” He’s slides into his seat now, body close to Tony’s tense one, probably detecting the discomfort there.

Tony takes a sip out of spite as Steve reaches to pat his knees. He’s fine. Steve is reading everything wrong. He can stomach the green juice without getting nauseous from memories.

_He’s fine._

Steve retracts his hand when Tony places the now empty mug on the coffee table. Wrong move. Because the next second, Tony’s on his feet running to the nearest water source and emptying all that he’d just swallowed.

“Fuck.” Keeps reverberating in his mind. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Gargling his mouth a few more times, he accepts the dry towel held out for him. Steve’s quiet while he washes his face and tries to recollect himself. He’s quiet through Tony failing, dry heaving again and slapping the counter, tossing the used towel to one corner and marching resolutely to lock himself in the guestroom.

But he’s still there when Tony comes out at 2am because sleep deflects him. He’s seated in the kitchen with his tablet in front of him and nothing close to surprise when they meet eyes.

Take away the 90s style kitchen and the overlying garden outside, they may as well be back in the tower again after one of Tony’s science marathons and Steve’s sleepless nights, running into each other in the communal floor where Steve would stand up to whip something up for them both, usually it’s hot chocolate, which is the stark difference between then and now.

But then Steve asks, “What do you want?” And it’s the testament of old ingrained routine they’re too familiar with that Tony answers, “Hot chocolate” without missing a beat.

Steve wears the ghost of his trademark smile as he stands up.

Tony takes over his seat. The tablet now in front of _him _and he hesitates a second before dragging an index finger across the screen, the thrum of electricity that tickles up his fingertip spikes a sense of familiarity within him and he shudders.

He fiddles with it as the comforting sound of Steve whipping up their hot chocolate in the kitchen echoes around him. He checks the news. Checks his emails, finger lurching in panic to swipe away hastily whenever he comes across another unread message from Pepper Potts.

He doesn’t open them. Not yet at least.

“I made oatmeal as well.” Steve murmurs, sliding into the seat next to his.

Tony wrinkles his nose in displeasure as he sips on his beverage, eyeing the blob of porridge Steve nudges closer to him suspiciously. It has slices of banana and a drizzle of what looks like some kind of nut butter on top of it. Still not appetizing, but he wants to know what kind of nut butter it is, so he dips the end of the spoon into it and gives a tentative lick.

Cashew.

“I don’t like oatmeal.” He glowers at Steve. Steve knows Tony has a propensity to cashew butter. They’re his weakness and now Steve’s using that against him.

“Clint likes my oatmeal.” Steve smirks around his own mug of hot drink. The floating marshmallow brushing the tip of his perfect nose. Tony digs out a spoonful and wraps his lips around it, the back of the metal spoon sitting heavily on his tongue as Steve quirks an eyebrow at him in what feels like a challenge.

Gulping, he pulls the spoon out – the content now weighing down his tongue as he makes a myriad of faces as he tries to push it down his throat.

“It’s the texture.” He grunts after he swallows, chasing it down with a big gulp of hot chocolate.

The taste is good, but the texture is a whole other level of disgusting.

Steve snorts. “At least finish up the bananas then.”

Tony does without arguing, the night lights strewn across the garden outside blinking like fireflies in the dimly lit, otherwise dark kitchen. He turns around in his seat with his mug after the banana slices are all gone and set to watch them dance in front of him.

“Thomas said it was your mother’s design.”

Tony privately thinks Thomas should shut his mouth. But that’s the vindictive part of him speaking. He just hates the idea of someone – especially Steve – finding out about slivers of his old life. He keeps his private opinion to himself and keeps his mouth shut.

“It’s beautiful.” Steve comments, filling in the silence between them.

Tony stands up, the confusion of his turbulent mindset taking a toll on him as he walks away from Steve, putting a good distance between them as he slides down the wall adjacent to the wide glass panel separating the kitchen and the outdoor. With legs straightened out, he cups the mug close to his chest and frowns at the mist covered meticulously trimmed lawn.

He doesn’t know exactly where Steve and he stands. What with the latest fiasco, add to that age old distrust Steve always had harboured for Tony, it’s confusing why the man is here with Tony in his old childhood mansion of all places.

He thought Steve said he was at home when Tony left him in the compound.

Steve also thought that Tony was leaving to build a picket fence dream home with Pepper Potts.

Well, perhaps it all came down to the impression they leave of themselves for each other.

Fake.

Which is why it’s difficult to make up his mind now. Whether he should lean back into the comfort of their old routine or shake it all up and start a new foundation out of pure honesty between them.

Because wasn’t that what Steve was when Tony asked him why he was here?

_“I don’t want to go back.”_

Honest?

But talking about Maria and her garden is too far of a stretch for Tony. So he gulps down the last mouthful of hot chocolate and says, “Maximoff hit me when we were retracting the sceptre.”

The sharp intake of a breath is way too closer than Tony anticipated. Steve’s halfway between the table and where Tony is, paused in his too quiet steps with his fists clenching tightly beside him.

He unclenches and makes the rest of his way to the opposite end of the floor to ceiling glass panel window. A good five feet between them when he slides down, stretching his own legs out. Socked.

“I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell.” Tony shrugs.

Steve nods, breaking their gaze, face turning away so he’s looking outside. Tony watches as he balls his fist in his sweatpants’ pocket and grits out, “I saw Peggy.”

Tony leans back against the wall and returns his gaze to the lawn he’d been fixed with earlier.

Steve continues, “Back to 1940s. A post war celebration and she’s in -,” he pauses, struggling. Tony clenches his jaw, mind wheeling with worries of having to share his own experience now that Steve is setting a pace to – To whatever truth game he’d started.

“She looked just the same. Beautiful.” Steve carries on, his voice a whisper lower, unaware of the turmoil Tony's facing within him. “She said that the war was over and that. That, we could go home.”

Tony waits for a few beats to pass in silence. Reluctant to tell. Reluctant to let someone in –

But Steve picks up like Tony participated nonetheless. “I should have trusted you over the twins.” He says, like he truly means it and Tony blurts out before he could have another go at rethinking about it.

“I saw you dead.” He holds his breath. “I saw you, and _everyone_ dead. Wormhole overhead. It was New York all over again and I – I. Yeah.” He bites his bottom lip sharp, nails digging into the skin of his palm as he makes a fist. “That kind of spurred me into – Well. You know, Ultron.”

Saying the name leaves a bitter after taste in his tongue. It revokes too many feelings from within him. Hatred. Remorse. _Grief._

He takes a deep breath to wash it all away. It doesn’t help still.

Steve, for once within Tony’s proximity, acts with tact. He doesn’t say a thing.

And Tony appreciates that.

Silence basks them then. Eerie in a way that Tony had never felt before while hanging out with Steve, all those times before. When honesty had been shoved in the back for some made up mask to hide who they really were.

Now, stripped bare with all his emotions on display, Tony feels awfully naked under Steve’s gaze.

And he’s beginning to fidget when Steve breaks the stillness and says, “Sam thinks I’m out looking for Bucky.”

Tony looks up and sees the way he worries the end of his sleeves, pulling at stray threads and he lets Steve ride out his stress, whatever it may be. If Steve is coming clean to Tony with something that he didn’t even tell Sam about… It gives him a lot to think.

“I should be.” Steve sighs, giving up on the threads and running his fingers through his hair. His face is pinched in frustration as he glares at the garden. “But I know he doesn’t want to be found for reasons and _I know_. I know I should just leave him be but I just- I just _can’t_.” He looks straight at Tony, blue eyes screaming in desperation as they sought out Tony’s as if they can miraculously find answers in them.

Tony holds them steady, refusing to blink even when it begins to burn at the edges. There’s something in him that’s yearning to proof himself to Steve and he doesn’t know what it is but he’s bound to that desire like a mad man.

“You can still keep an eye on him without bothering him.” Tony offers.

And he knows. If the situation was reversed. If _he_ was Bucky, he’d hate it. But he’s Tony and Tony feels some odd sense of obligation to satisfy Steve.

“How?” Steve rasps, whisper thread, scared to hope and yet, wanting.

Tony shrugs simply. “Aerial view. From the satellites. I can punch a way through that. Easy.”

-

And that’s how Tony finds himself driving back to the Tower with Steve in the passenger seat the next day. Under impeccable cover of true stealthy spies – hoodies, cap and sunglasses on.


	2. Crossing the Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’re you doing?” He whispers hoarsely, fisting around Steve’s shirt at the back and pulling them closer together. His body betrays him spectacularly as Steve sighs into the kiss.

Steve follows Tony with some sort of awe. Watches closely as Tony brings his personal lab to life – the one he shared with Bruce in the Avenger’s floor still down in soot and dust – and entertains the bots when their father gets too busy for them.

When Steve gets stuck, frowning in confusion as he confesses to Tony that he doesn’t follow, Tony is right there to take his hand and patiently guide him through the entire process.

Deep in the back of his mind – where his conscience lies – he knows what Steve had done. Yanked Tony out of sinking mud, brought him straight back home to where he belongs; where technology thrive under his finger tips and his robotic children whirr in relief to have their father back.

Installing FRIDAY is easy. But he knows the real hardship is in deleting JARVIS who’s console is in the Avengers’ lab. Tony isn’t ready for that.

So he blinds himself to that task and walks on top of his uncleaned mess as if it is the normalcy. Steve doesn’t know the details but every time Tony catches him looking, he seems to realise that there was something horribly fishy that Tony was hiding.

45 hours of non-stop work after, Tony pulls out images of the winter soldier in Romania, mingling among the public.

Steve rushes to the screen looking wild; a stark contrast to the squeaky clean appearance he made just 5 minutes ago; fresh out of shower after his morning run.

Now he looks like he’d aged a decade and everything about him screams_ wild_. “Where is he?” He asks, breathless.

Tony points at the coordinate at the bottom of the frame wordlessly. Way too fascinated by how passion looks on Steve Rogers; something he’d never seen before, never thought he’d ever see. That glint. That fire.

Something ignites small and beseeching within Tony and he puts it out promptly.

No, he tells himself. That isn’t a path he can even consider taking with Steve Rogers.

“He looks… Fine.” He comments when silence stretches. Sipping on hours old green juice DUM- E whipped up for him, the coil in his stomach tightening lesser than it did yesterday and the day before yesterday.

He watches the tension bleed out of Steve, minute by minute and when it was entirely gone, the fire is still there; wild in his eyes as he nods at Tony’s words. “Yeah.” He says breathlessly. “Yeah, he looks like it.”

And that’s how Tony confirms his theory; Steve Rogers is in love with his pal, his buddy, his _Bucky_.

Tony clicks at the remote in his grasp and the frame dutifully shifts to zoom out; an array of pictures caught from CCTV, surveillance cameras, etcetera popping in front of Steve, surrounding him. The audible gasp is the only tell tale sign Tony needs to leave the man alone to his own device. He knows that if Steve gets stuck, FRIDAY will be there to guide him through it all.

Except when he walks past Steve, he gets tugged into – oh! – a hug. So shocked that he goes, “Oh.” And then, “Urm.”

But none of that loosens Steve’s grip around him as he brushes his nose on the stripe of exposed skin between Tony’s neck and his shoulder and he whispers “Thank you” over and over.

Blown out of his mind, Tony pours water to that ignition that has suddenly decided to come alive, while patting Steve between his shoulder blades. “Alright, Cap.” He coughs when Steve still doesn’t let go. “I’m gonna cease to breathe now.” He feigns in exaggeration.

And Steve comes loose around him. All soft smile and softer eyes, Tony wishes he was still tucked into that tight embrace, unbeknownst of how _love _looks on Steve Rogers’ face. Because now, that ignited fire is ablaze and it feels like no matter what he’s going to do to it, it is there to stay. And that love isn’t even _for_ him.

Shit.

-

For a few days after that, it’s all;

“Where did he go? He was right here.”

“He’s not showing up on the feed.”

“Where does he stay?”

“What if someone ambushed him there?”

“How can I know if he’s safe there.”

Until, Tony has to take a stand and sit Steve down in front of him. “We can’t always know he’s safe, Cap. But we’ll know if he’s in danger. FRIDAY knows where he stays but she’s not letting us know because following him through satellite views on the streets; while he’s in the public, that’s one thing. But following him home? I don’t know, Cap. I don’t like the thought of that. So FRIDAY will not reveal his address to us except if it’s case of dire emergency.” Tony scratches the itch at the back of his neck.

It’s as if this stalking in public thing is not already creepy as it is. Because that’s what they’re doing now. Stalking.

But as it has been for a few months now, Tony’s only excuse is Steve.

“Just – Rest assured that FRIDAY knows if he’s under duress or not and she’ll notify us, kay?”

The pinch between Steve’s eyebrows deepens but he nods. Tight.

Tony turns away from him. Unable to watch the battle unfold across Steve’s transparent face. It’s a toss between wishing Steve knew how to close his emotions and to never change from the way he already is; transparent as fuck.

The way Steve’s face speaks for him is too painful for Tony to digest at times, he aches to be spared.

Other times, like when he finds something funny and laughs, Tony thanks Steve’s inability to hide his emotions. So unlike Tony.

He wonders if Barnes’ the same too.

Not the Barnes who wanders the European streets now, but the Barnes who lost his life for Steve. The Barnes who Steve calls Bucky.

Tony wonders if_ that _Barnes had been as transparent as Steve too.

Because the Barnes on the screen, he’s like Natasha. Poker face perfected to a tee. There’s nothing there on the canvas to give away what he actually feels.

Tony remembers the days when he used to wish for powers like that too. To put a veil so opaque over his emotions so nobody can ever know him.

But Pepper and Rhodey’s existence tells him that he failed at that front. It’s for the cost of Pepper and Rhodey though. At least when he’s with them, he’s unable to hide who he is or what he feels.

But with others, even with Steve, it’s easy.

“He’s safe.” He assures him, picking up the hammer, starting back up from where he left; banging and clanging the metal for his helmet.

As he shifts grip, Steve interrupts him.

Had Tony failed to catch his too quiet voice between his hammering, he would have missed it completely. 

“It gets harder and harder each day to convince myself to stay put.” He confesses. “The urge to go – To - To find him, keeps getting stronger.”

Steve whispers, the final echo of metal peeling away at their now still atmosphere.

Tony rolls the hammer in his grasp. Once. Twice.

He’s not a man designed to hear confessions. Never had anyone open themselves so raw for him because he had always been adamant in closing himself.

See, that was the trick.

The less Tony lets others see, the less they do as well. It’s all physics. Action and its resulting reaction. Reciprocation as they call it.

Then he has to go and foolishly snap that streak with Steve.

Tell him all about Maximoff and his motivations and now Steve’s confessing and Tony, still alien to this entire thing, doesn’t know what to with himself.

So he goes back to basics. Tries to think from a different perspective. Puts himself in Barnes’ shoes again and he tells Steve, “He won’t like it.”

Steve’s eyes snap up to meet him. Vulnerable in their hurting as they stare past the glaze of unshed tears. Tony swallows painfully, unwillingly keeping that gaze - even when every cell within him protests to turn away - because he knows otherwise, Steve will have a hard time believing him.

“Think about it from his side, Steve.” He says the name carefully. Weighing shit ton on his tongue when he tried to roll it out but surprisingly, it tumbles out so damn easily. Like trusting Steve had been. “You said it yourself. He’s hiding for reasons.”

Something twists sharply in his chest as he watches a drop of tear roll down chiselled cheek. _This is wrong_, his heart tells him. _This is so, **so** wrong._

But he still moves.

Instinct -

He still steps into Steve’s space and cups his cheeks.

Instinct -

Still cards his fingers through those surprisingly soft blonde strands, keeps them away from the wrinkle free forehead and he takes a deep breath – with it, he pulls Steve’s head into his arms, butting gently against his stomach and he keeps him there. Near.

Instinct.

His entire form struggles to get the next set of words out – muscles clenching and unclenching periodically as he murmurs out a promise. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready.” Something so uncharacteristic, so unlike him, that his own body protests against it. _A promise_.

But the sigh that leaves Steve’s lips is worth it.

Tony gives another stroke from the front of his head to the base of his skull and then he lets go.

With it, a stray piece of his heart that has decided to stay with Steve as well.

-

Unbeknownst to Tony, the night seems to have peeled off a layer deeper into their progress, a layer deeper into a field where touching – skin to skin contact; hugging more specifically – becomes a common ground.

Not that Tony’s complaining but he could have done without it especially where his growing feeling for Steve is concerned - or maybe, he _could_ do with it because at least it provides some relieving factor to that increasingly irritating itch he’d reluctantly started developing for Steve.

-

He’s elbow deep in motor oil at god knows what hour when Steve barges in, looking like something had struck him across his head – looking wild like he did when he first saw Barnes on screen and curiously out of breath.

Tony’s up from the floor in an instant. Ignoring DUM-E’s offer of towel to wipe the grease off in favour of closing the distance between Steve and him.

“What’s wrong?”

He thinks he hears a sobbed out ‘thank god’ before he’s promptly enveloped in muscles.

“Nightmare.” Is the only word of explanation Steve gives as he unfurls himself, spots of pink spreading down from the peak of his cheeks as Tony ducks his own head, suddenly, embarrassed.

He doesn’t go back to bed after that, sprawling across the couch Tony installed in his workshop with a book and a pencil and they both work with what they have in their respective hands.

When the morning comes, Steve whips up a couple of scrambled eggs while Tony makes coffee – more like, he switched on the coffee machine, but a task completed nonetheless.

Around his third bite, Steve asks when Tony’s planning to clean up the Avenger’s lab and just like that, he nubs at Tony’s just budding appetite.

“Soon.” Tony shrugs with feigned nonchalance as he forces himself to swallow that single bite he’d taken before Steve opened his mouth.

“Today?” Dearest oblivious Steve asks and Tony feels the soggy egg lurch threateningly up in his oesophagus.

He washes it down forcefully with a gulp of bitter black coffee and plasters a fake smile. “Let’s not get too eager, Cap. I’m trying to keep up with my priority now.”

The upturn of one corner of Steve’s lips is just as gentle as his voice when he retorts back, “Didn’t know finding Bucky took first place there.”

Tony entertains him with a snort, the capillaries down his fingertips flooding with blood as he curls and uncurls his digits around his thumb. “Well -,” Is all that he manages before he’s standing up and leaving the other man alone in the kitchen, unattended.

Steve may have a certain level of power over him, but that doesn’t mean Tony would sit still while he goes ahead and abuses it.

-

It’s unfairly too early in the morning when FRIDAY alerts him.

“I’m sorry, boss. But it appears that Seargent Barnes has gotten himself in a rather sticky situation.”

Tony who’s been struggling to keep his eyes open whilst procrastinating the much needed trip to the communal kitchen to top up his coffee in fear of running into Steve and dealing with the whole clean up thing, startles.

FRIDAY helpfully zooms in on a grainy video feed of Barnes heading into a secluded area, armed with a hefty looking backpack.

“Is that a HYDRA bunker?” Tony coughs to clear his rusty throat.

“It appears so, boss. Designed in 1936, completed in the end of summer 1940. It’s last active usage dates back to December 2014.”

“That’s last year.”

“Indeed, boss. But as you can see,” She zooms in to the bottom of the image. “It’s been more than 12 hours since he went in there. I’ve seen neither other activities since then nor any signs of new entry or exit, boss.”

Tony grunts, suddenly feeling way too awake than he’d like to be.

He flicks through all the available images, studying each one of them down to their details.

“Would you like me to alert the Captain, boss?” FRIDAY quips softly.

Tony sucks in his bottom lip, considering.

Instinct says to go alone. Play the game that he’s so used to since he was born. The whole lone gunslinger act Rhodey hates him for.

Then he thinks of Steve. How he would feel when he finds out what Tony has done. Also the fact that this is Steve’s mission and Tony is simply an enabling hand.

And that swiftly changes everything.

He gives a curd nod, “Pull out Mark 44, please Fri. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, boss.”

-

The rescue turns out to be an ambush.

“Depending on where you’re standing.” Tony lifts his arms up in surrender. “We’re not here to harm you.”

Across him, Steve lowers his shield. Lifting his arms up as well.

But none of their gestures convince the Winter Soldier to lower his guard.

Armed in a huge ass rifle - Tony doesn’t even want to begin to think where he could have got it from - with wild hair and wilder eyes as he snaps his head back and forth between Tony and Steve, like a skittish animal.

“Bucky, it’s me.” Steve placates, voice carefully levelled to bargain but Tony has been cursed to hear between those layers. To listen to the pure desperation underlying there.

He hears the_ please_, and he cringes.

“I know who you are.” Barnes rasps, barely above whisper as he tries to not be fixated by Steve and Steve alone.

Tough luck, Tony thinks, stepping out of his armour impulsively.

He sees the flash of alarm pass across Steve’s baby blue hidden beneath the cowl. He’ll be sentenced to hours of lecture for this stupid, but necessary stunt.

They say they mean no harm, but as long as they’re fully suited, two against one, Barnes isn’t going to back down.

This way, with Tony’s mundane human body out of its safety shell, it’ll be two super soldiers facing each other. And where Barnes is unsure about the anomaly, that is Tony, he _knows_ Steve means no harm to him.

So there’s the point there. Well, at least Tony hopes so it’s a point cause he’s fucking gambling on it.

He doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until the rifle drops to the floor.

“There you go.” He whispers under his breath. More to himself than to anybody else. His heart continuing to hammer loudly in his chest.

Loudly, “Can we all go back to the tower. This place smells like shit. No jibes at you, Manchurian Candidate. But you do look like you could use a shower and I have like _five_ great shower systems installed in my place. I’m sure once you’ve stepped under them, you’ll never want to be anywhere else.”

He sees the fond exasperation in Steve’s cowl covered face before he sees the confusion brimming across Barnes’.

In Tony’s defence, he _tried._

Although it took about 30 long minutes of Steve spelling word by word, trying to get Barnes to believe their harmless intent for Barnes to finally agree to get out of the bunker.

To get out.

Of the bunker.

Nothing else.

“I’m getting older here, Cap.” Tony elbows Steve as he follows behind his sentry mode armour. Barnes in tow behind them both. His condition.

Steve throws a glance over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “You’re the one who said, give him time.”

“Yeah, well. This is too much time. I take it back.”

“Tony.” Steve shuts him up with his one word wonder. Tony groans, throwing his head back exaggeratedly.

Barnes clears his throat behind them, and Tony smirks inwardly.

He’s game on being all dramatic bitch up Manchurian Candidate’s ass if that’s what’s going to make him talk alright.

Well until an hour later, they’re stranded in a forest with a credit card lighter in Tony’s case as they watch said Manchurian Candidate take off.

“I did say he’ll come. Not _when_.” Tony scuffs the soil beneath his metal heel. Shame coursing through his veins.

“You said, he’ll come when he’s _ready_.” Steve nods, still looking ahead. “He’s not ready, yet.”

-

Over the course of his stay, Steve has apparently decided to spend at least 50% of it on the couch in Tony’s workshop.

“What are you drawing today?” Tony asks out of a new born habit, pulling up a project SI’s R&D department’s been bugging him with.

“Something out of memory.” Steve answers absentmindedly and really, that’s about all the words they exchange on most days when they’re keeping each other company.

Nothing that opens up a new conversation or reopens an old one.

Steve seems to have dropped the whole ‘clean up’ topic. Which is nice by Tony’s standard. But it also means that the second upper most floor in the tower is collecting dusts on top of severed iron legion heads and burned metals.

Pepper’s going to be mad.

Pepper who has finally penetrated Tony’s shield and yell at him an hour straight for ignoring her and taking for granted what they share until Tony apologized and apologized and promised to send a fruit basket over.

And a brand new pair of Louboutin.

Alright fine. He had to give her five. But if that’s the cost of her friendship, then he’ll gladly empty his bank account for it. Even if she doesn’t (never) asked for it.

Speaking of which.

“He used the card I gave him.” He glances over his shoulder at a curled up Steve. “He knows it can track down which means -,”

“He’s given up on hiding.” Steve sits up straight. Flipping close his sketchbook and walking up to hitch a hip against Tony’s worktable.

“Yup.” Tony pops the p. “FYI, he’s in Brussels now. Clothes shopping. Which frankly, he direly needed, so I fully support that decision. Also it was at ‘round -,”

“Tony.” Steve interrupts. A hand pressing down Tony’s shoulder, seeking for attention Tony willingly gives.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.” Steve squeezes. His little finger grazes the exposed skin above Tony’s round collar and Tony forces himself stiff, to not shudder. To not give away how he feels.

But Steve’s bold and forthcoming in his gratitude. For he slides his hand up until he’s cupping the back of Tony’s neck and up some more until his fingers are carding through Tony’s curls and he shakes them lightly. Ruffling Tony’s hair like he’s some kind of a high school kid who’s made a perfect goalie.

“Hey!” Tony bats at his hand, mildly affronted. And the bastard chuckles, and all at once, it dawns on Tony that Captain America. Correction; Steve Rogers. Is pulling his leg.

“Real funny, big guy.” He pokes his tongue out, getting back to work.

After dinner that night, Tony takes his chance and worms his cold feet beneath Steve’s thigh.

Steve takes _his_ chance and curls his fingers around Tony’s ankles.

A new kind of comfort wraps around them both after words. Something Tony refuses to address because it makes his skin tingle and that is not good.

_Steve has Bucky,_ he tells himself over and over. _Steve has Bucky and Bucky has Steve_.

“Rhodey hates me when I try to do everything by myself.” He confesses one night.

He’s been down in the shop for 36 hours trying to perfect a program that doesn’t want to cooperate and by far, he has only gained a splitting headache.

It’s supposed to be a teamwork. Something the R&D should tinker with under Tony’s guidance. But what has become is, Tony handling the entire project over while the so called team work office hours and whine about the imperfections.

So when Steve enters, fresh out of shower with take out boxes in two hands, Tony looks up at him wearily from where he’d dropped his head on the worktable and he starts their sacred game all over.

“He calls it my lone gunslinger act. Complains about how I shut everyone out and pretend I’m fine while I try to handle an impossible situation.”

To Steve’s credit, he only falters a step before he marches forth, picking up Tony’s mood immediately and placing the boxes at the coffee table in front of the couch.

He then, walks up to Tony. A determined expression on his face which pulls the last string of defiance out of Tony who melts into the hug, face squashed into Steve’s hard stomach and mumble, “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

He gets a good two minutes of back rub and head massage whilst still in that position. Steve’s hold around him not giving even for a second as he presses surprisingly gentle fingertips to Tony’s scalp repeatedly.

If it’s up to Tony, he’ll gladly vote for them to stay that way. But Steve belongs to Bucky, so he begins to peel away, much to Steve’s displeasure, who simply pulls him back in until Tony’s only able to look up at him, chin propped on his abdomen.

“Then stop pretending.” Steve rubs a hand over his forehead. Pushing all the hair back, and bending over to plant a kiss on his forehead.

Tony’s heart drops. His gut clenches horribly and bile rises up in them.

He wants. Oh, he wants so much. But this is so wrong, his mind tells him. So, so wrong.

“What’re you doing?” He whispers hoarsely, fisting around Steve’s shirt at the back and pulling them closer together. His body betrays him spectacularly as Steve sighs into the kiss. His mouth still pressed against Tony’s brow-line. Hot and tempting.

“I have to tell you something.” His voice seems to shake. “Please don’t hate me or Bucky. Please?” He begs.

Tony’s blood curdle in their vessels. And this time, his body follows his command and pushes Steve away. “What are you talking about? Why would I hate you? Or Barnes? I barely even know that guy, Cap.”

“Tony.” Steve shuts him up effectively. Although there’s space in between them now, but his hands are still around Tony. Holding on to him as if they’re clutching, in desperation.

“Cap?”

“Howard -,” Steve starts, then pauses.

Tony swallows as he watches Captain America anxious for the first time. He then waits patiently for Steve to collect his thoughts and himself in the process and finally, with a terrified face, he says, “Howard and your mother were assassinated.”

“What?”

“It was a planned murder by HYDRA within SHIELD. They wanted Howard… gone because he became doubtful of Zola at one point and they picked the night he was transporting the modified super serum to have him assassinated.”

“Oh.” Tony extracts himself from Steve’s desperate clutch. “Okay.” He tries to run the revelation over a few times in his head. “Alright.” He swallows to wet his suddenly too dry throat. “Why my mum, though?”

Steve’s face twists as he answers apologetically. “A casualty.”

Tony inhales sharply. “Huh.” He turns in his chair. Blood boiling because that is not fair!

War.

Afghanistan.

Yinsen and his family.

Yinsen’s hometown.

New York 2012.

Casualty is not fucking fair.

Out loud, he says, “That’s not fair.” Swivelling the chair back to face Steve again.

He’s brought casualty himself, but damn does it hurt in an entirely fucking different way when you’re the affected one and not the one affecting.

Steve winces as if it’s his fault. Which doesn’t make sense.

Tony cocks his head, his ears still ringing from the new information he can’t quite wrap his head around yet. “How does you or your Bucky fit in this?”

And even before Steve opens his mouth, Tony knows he’s going to hate it.

He knows in his bones that he’s going to despise what Steve has to say and Steve begged Tony to not hate him and it won’t be Steve who Tony will be hating. It will be _what _Steve has to tell him that Tony will be hating.

“Assassination was instructed by HYDRA. Mission was carried out by the Winter Soldier.”

And right then, Tony wishes Steve had never opened his mouth and shared.

He wonders if he’d be a hypocrite if he smashes everything on the table.

Because hatred blossoms within every cell of his with thorns of revenge. He wants to take a swipe.

Drive his fist through the person who murdered his mother.

“Tony -,”

“LEAVE ME! Alone. Just. Go. I – Leave me alone.”

Steve complies. But not before he fumbles at the exit. “Tony, it wasn’t Bucky. HYDRA _used_ him. Don’t – Please don’t let your anger -,”

“Lead me to murder?” Tony chuckles darkly. “Don’t worry, Cap. I got enough blood in my hands. Wasn’t planning to bathe in another.”

Once he’d left, Tony asks FRIDAY the most recent photo of Barnes. Grainy and blurred from the low quality CCTV up a building.

And he activates the gauntlet and blasts the hologram with his repulsor. Glass panel shattering behind it as the shot travels _through._

Once.

Twice.

And until his anger settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reread the chapters before posting but some mistakes still slip past me so, I'm sorry about that. On the other hand, thank you for all the kudos and comments :)


	3. Closing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t hate you.” He says flatly, depositing the unopened take-out boxes into the refrigerator. “But I don’t want to talk.” He fixes his eyes on Steve. “Not yet.”

Tony reads through files pulled out by FRIDAY – from some depth unknown to even hell; and there’s a video.

A footage of his parents being murdered. Maria’s getting choked and Tony shoots at the screen – accidentally activating the gauntlet. He drinks to a repulsor blast-sized hole on the reinforced wall of his workshop.

FRIDAY pulls out more videos. This time, of ‘Maintenance and Deployment: The Fist of HYDRA’ and Tony spends half an hour hurling over the toilet – spilling his gut while Barnes’ screams echo in his ears.

When he goes out – exhaustion dragging down his bones – he finds Steve in the kitchen. Forlorn head perking up, quickly transforming into a ball of nervous energy and Tony holds up his hand at once.

“I don’t hate you.” He says flatly, depositing the unopened take-out boxes into the refrigerator. “But I don’t want to talk.” He fixes his eyes on Steve. “Not _yet_.”

And he leaves.

-

He doesn’t go for breakfast.

He sleeps through lunch.

As the sun sets across the border, he puts on his suit and flies off to find the only person who could think of at the moment.

-

“What’s up?” Rhodey asks, squeezing Tony in a half hug as soon as Tony steps out of the armour.

“What? I can’t even visit now that you’re an Avenger?” Tony feigns offense. Tapping at Rhodey’s ass as he steps back, grinning widely at Rhodey’s pinched face.

“No touching the treasure, Tones.” He chides, setting the pace as he guides Tony into the new Avengers’ compound.

It’s empty except for Vision who’s sitting with a book in the lounge. He nods when he sees Tony, unaware to how he makes Tony’s heart race at a horrible pace at the very sight of him.

“Where’re the others?” He asks as Rhodey pulls out mugs from the cabinet. The soft whirr of the coffee machine providing comfort to his jittery nerves.

“Training.” Rhodey turns around. “Sam’s playing the bad guy and Nat’s overseeing Wanda tackle him.”

Tony nods and hums distractedly, eyes training on the ring around Rhodey’s right middle finger. It’s a promise ring, Tony gave him when he was young, stupid and drunk off his ass in MIT. Every time he sees Rhodey wearing it, which is not always, his heart grows fonder in his chest.

The world may have robbed him off of parental love. May be stingy with romance. But it can never take away his Rhodey.

The ever present bejewelled horror – 1 x 1 head of zombie Michael Jackson with glittery eyes - Tony had won from a coin operated machine is a testament to that.

“How’s she doing?” He asks, looping two fingers around the mug’s handle.

Rhodey shrugs, pouring a mug for himself and corking his hip against the counter. “Coping.”

“Never had a twin but it must be unbearable to lose one.” He adds after a while.

Tony sniffs at the content in his mug, letting the caffeine spread through his sensory and settle his nerves.

“Barton checks in. Sometimes. Had a one month birthday party with all of us in a conference call. Not as much fun as physically attending the thing but it was alright.”

“Basically your life is just as dull as mine.” Tony snorts, shaking his head amusedly.

“Well you don’t have to put up with bruises every day after, for once. So don’t compare your life with mine.” Rhodey teases. Tony rolls his eyes at him.

They’re working through a second box of pizza when Rhodey says, “They want me back in the military.”

Tony takes his time to chew his bite. Keeps his eyes trained on Mr Robot as he wonders how he feels about this news.

He wipes at his mouth, grease creasing the tissue from pizza outlet when he realizes how exhausted he is to feel anything at all.

“How’re you planning to manage that?” He asks instead. The frown slipping easily into his face. Easier than a smile would, if he had to pull out one.

Rhodey tosses the tenth crust back into the box. “I’m working on a schedule with Nat. Dunno how much I’ll be around but were aiming for at least the weekend back in here, even if it’s for team bonding.”

“Team bonding.” Tony tries for himself. Memories of his own team bonding days coming forefront, assaulting him with a sick nostalgia that sits heavily in his gut.

He forces the laidback Clint with a remote control as he battles Mario Kart with Thor while Natasha sharpens her knife at one corner away from the back of his eyes and forces a smile on his face. “What do you guys do for team bonding?”

He knew the answer before Rhodey says ‘movie night’. It cements the fact that not only he misses their old comraderies, but the ever so stoic Widow does as well. It makes the smile drop sadly from his face.

_It’s better this way, _he tells himself.

To Rhodey, he says, “Steve told me something… interesting. The other day.”

And he tells his honeybear, all about it.

All about the secrets and mission and assassinations. All about Maria and how she didn’t deserve what happened to her at all. Not even one bit.

“I’m not saying Howard deserves it but -,”

“No, I get it.” Rhodey tells him. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Jesus. Tony.” He shakes his head. Somewhere between Tony’s story, he got his elbows perched on his knees as he looks down at his own feet. “You tell me something interesting. This is not_ interesting_. This is – This. How are you holding?” He then looks up at Tony, dark eyes intense.

“I saw a man’s brain get fried over and over so he could murder my mother, Rhodey. I’m holding as much as I can.”

The horror in Rhodey’s eyes looks exactly like how he feels. “Jesus.” Rhodey exclaims.

“Yeah.” Tony tells him.

Rhodey pulls him into a tight hug.

-

When Rhodey sees him off, he makes Tony promise to call him. Tony tells him to not worry. “I always take care of myself, honeybear.”

“Yeah, which is why I insist you call.”

-

Tony corners Steve right when he’s about to leave the premise for his morning run.

It’s five in the morning and he had tasked FRIDAY to alert him when she catches the Captain in the hallway. He has way too less coffee in his system and an itch behind his neck he’s hiding underneath a new pair of Nike and a workout hoodie.

“Tony!” Steve looks up in surprise from tightening his shoelaces. Tony gives him a small wave. Mouth clamped shut like a bunch of cotton has been stuffed in there.

Appropriately, Steve quirks an eyebrow up and Tony groans a little, still refusing to talk as he looks pointedly at his running shoes FRIDAY had ordered while he flew back to the tower yesterday. Quick delivery, by the way. Thank you Amazon or whichever site she ordered from.

Steve follows his eyes and makes a face. The fists he’d clenched by his side when he spotted Tony giving away to some space. “You’re coming on a run with me?” He asks with a tad too much of disbelief which makes Tony pull a Pepper’s glare at him.

Steve lifts his arms up in surrender, “Okay.” As if Tony doesn’t know better and they set off together into the street still lit by nightlights.

_Too fucking early in the morning. What the fuck, Steve, _Tony thinks as he shoots an angry glare in Steve’s way.

They start by stretching. Tony doesn’t know what the shit he’s supposed to do so he simply circles his arms and copies whatever else Steve’s doing. He hasn’t ran for what? Five years or something? Yeah.

Five minutes after, when they’ve done warming up, Steve asks him why the run and Tony indulges him with a shrug and a proper verbal answer. “I hear it helps burn some steam off.”

Steve chuckles. “That it does. Picked it up after I came back from my road trip and found myself with nothing to do but wait for another day to end.”

Tony grunts in acknowledgement and Steve waves a hand in gesture. Asking him to set the pace.

Less than a minute after, they’re fast-walking and Tony doesn’t think this is how Steve usually _runs, _so he pants in between breaths and shoos him off. “Go ahead, don’t let me ruin your run.” It’s beyond embarrassing. He’s Iron Man but look at him. Unfit for a run. He gets most of his workout from wielding metal and doing hardware stuffs in the workshop now. He used to do boxing when he thought he was dying but somewhere along post New York, he’d only been relying on missions to keep him in shape. Which they did, considering the frequency they dealt with; led by Steve’s desire to burn every HYDRA base down and Thor’s need to retrieve his brother’s sceptre. Unfortunately, since now he’d retired, and had never bothered to replace all those with equally challenging workouts, he’d lost his physical game and it’s showing, alright.

Steve, the peak of human perfection and possible cause of Tony’s fatal death by diminished air in lungs, clucks his tongue, matching their pace so they’re walking side by side. “I’m fine with this. Although I think you should have reconsidered the hoodie.” He squints down at Tony. “Tends to overheat you.”

“It’s a workout gear!” Tony protests, unwaveringly confident in FRIDAY’s picks. “It’s supposed to provide me comfort.”

“Well, not when the humidity is this high, no it won’t.”

Tony resists the urge to punch one of his bulging biceps. “It’s my undercover, then.” He refuses to give in.

“Doesn’t help as long as you have that goatee, Tony.” Steve huffs a laughter that sounds way too fond to be real, as he shakes his head.

They part as another runner pass between them from the opposite direction.

“It’s van-dyke!” Tony hisses as soon as they’re alone again. Steve yanks the top of the hood down to cover his nose childishly and Tony yelps.

They jog again for half a minute, then walk for a minute or two and it’s like that, with Steve asking if it’s the first time Tony is running and Tony opening up to him, breathless all the while, telling him about the arc reactor and diminished lung capacity.

“They say that now the support is gone, I have to do the extra job and take care of it, you know.” He taps at the mess of scar covering his sternum.

Steve’s quiet until they’re half way back home and then he starts something and abruptly stops. It goes on for multiple times that Tony gets tired and brings them to a stop. Moving away from the pavement so the rest of the New York morning birds can pass by them in City Park.

“Before you choke yourself, I’m not mad anymore. And we can talk all we want but I don’t think the current setting is ideal for that conversation.” He gives a quick look around while Steve follows his gaze. “So, let’s just hold it in until we’re in private alright, Capsicle?”

Tony looks up and momentarily gets his breath knocked out of his chest when Steve gives him a sharp tug, sending both of their bodies meshing together.

“Gah!” Tony yanks away. But Steve’s grip is tight around his shoulder for another two seconds before he lets go.

The tail of a bicycle disappears around the corner in an illegal speed as the rider yells a few selective curses at them over his shoulder.

“Well that was close.” Tony flips a bird for a good measure. “Where do they even get the energy to get angry _this_ early in the morning.”

Steve barks out a laughter and just like that, they slide back into their faulty running rhythm, before Steve had gotten all awkward and nervous.

Steve barely lets Tony to catch his breath. Blurting out an apology as soon as the elevator door closes behind them.

“God, please don’t.” Tony scuffles to the kitchen, pulling out the first glass he sees and collecting water in it. “Stop apologizing. Let’s move on.” He says after gulping down the lot. His lungs still feel like they’re on fire and emotional talk this early in the morning should be a crime, but it gets Steve warming up to him, walking in a more languid pace as he picks up a glass for himself as well.

“So you’re not angry with Bucky or me?” Steve’s asks, eyeing him cautiously. His lips pink and sinful as they clamp down the rim of his clear glass. Adams’ apple bobbing enticingly, sending Tony’s blood whooshing south.

He shakes his head. “Do you have to ask so explicitly?”

Steve frowns and opens his mouth to counter but Tony holds up a hand. “No.” He presses. “The answer is no. I’m done being angry and if you apologize one more time, I’m going to transfer the entire sum of your bank account into mine.”

“Why do you need so much money for?” Steve snorts, taking another gulp and spilling the rest into the sink, rinsing and toppling the glass over to dry and Tony follows every single movement of his.

“Yeah, well I like money.” He says absently. Pinching himself when his eyes follow those long fingers to Steve’s mouth where they drag to catch the remnant of water and sweat and –

“Okay. I’m out. Gonna shower and what not.” He turns away, marching resolutely to the elevator.

“Breakfast in an hour!” Steve yells after him and _oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god; _Tony’s heart hammers.

“Don’t think this is what they meant when they said exercise, buddy.” He rubs at his chest in the privacy of the elevator.

-

For a number of reasons, Tony dives in deeper into his effort to bring back Steve’s Bucky.

He thinks, as he count the number of times Barnes appeared in public since they last saw him, that it has to do with no one deserving to be tortured that bad for that long. And maybe a little – just a teeny weeny bit – for Steve.

He’s losing himself to – Or, well. Actually, he’d rather admit to being swayed easily when it comes to Steve.

With everyday that passes knowing Steve is living without his Bucky, the asshole part of Tony is yammering at the door to be out, and try his luck.

To see how far he can push into Steve’s space before he gets pushed out.

He does things like, going soft and pliant whenever Steve comes in contact with him. Or that horrible morning, when he woke up to find himself in Steve’s arm – a too hot furnace that tempted the life out of him – tangled in the couch they never made out from after their movie marathon.

Bad decisions are becoming easier to make and Tony hates it.

He doesn’t show Steve those videos FRIDAY found of Barnes. He’s not planning to either. So as far as Steve is concerned, Tony is not invested in saving a victim of HYDRA but in finding his parents’ murderer.

He knows that that is what keeping Steve fidgeting whenever Tony updates him about his Bucky. At least, the worry behind those unfairly blue eyes are telling as much.

So he doesn’t fault Steve for blurting out, asking, “Why are you so invested in this search, Tony?” with an ounce of suspicion behind his teeth.

Tony pauses mid murmuring notes to FRIDAY under his breath. Instinct yells to take offence and he does, jokingly, touching the centre of his chest and turning to face Steve.

“I’m always invested in whatever I do, Cap.” He points out with narrowed eyes.

The flicker of smile dies when Steve opens his mouth again. “Yeah, you are. But, I’ve been expecting you to drop the search after -,” He falters self-consciously. Scuffing the floor with the heel of his shoe. “But you just jumped back in with more passion and I’m – urm. I don’t know what to think.” He says the last part quietly.

Tony swivels in his chair to face him fully.

Black shirt that has become a common choice and another pair of form fitting jeans that stretch obscenely around muscular thighs. Tony forces his focus to stay on Steve’s face. A difficult feat considering how Steve’s leaning back on the worktable, far too closer that he used to be a month ago and regardless of what they say about bad circulation and ageing, Tony has functionally thriving hormones.

_Bad Tony_, he scolds himself silently.

“Do you not want me to find him?” He asks Steve flatly.

Steve falters, struggling with words a few moments before crossing his arms over his chest – damn! biceps – resolutely and says, “I’m saying you don’t _have_ to do this, Tony.”

Something sinks heavily inside Tony.

Steve continues, “I wasn’t thinking through when I accepted your help and now that I’ve considered… everything. I think it’s quite awful of me to ask you to find someone who – Who. Even though – I mean. You know what I’m trying to say, Tony.” He sighs wearily shaking his head, fingers running up to mess his shortly cropped blonde hair.

Suddenly, he looks a decade older than he actually is and Tony inhales a shuddering breath to keep himself from doing something stupid. Like reaching out and pulling Steve into a hug, sort of stupid thing.

“FYI, you’re not the boss of me.” He says instead, wagging a pen at Steve. “I’m not an Avenger anymore, remember? You’re not_ making_ me do anything -,”

“I don’t think we’re working as _Avengers_ here, Tony.” Steve interrupts softly, peeking up at Tony from beneath his eyelashes, a hopeful smile on his pink lips. Illegal move. Should be banned for the sheer outrageous thump it gives to Tony’s heart.

“Yeah. No. We’re not” Tony concedes, clearing his suddenly dry throat. “But that still doesn’t mean I would subject myself to do something I don’t even want to do.” He waves the pen again pointedly. “I’m selfish remember?”

Something akin to a grimace passes across Steve’s face before he’s straightening up from his slouch. Stricken. “No I don’t remember. Especially not when it comes to friends and I – That’s who we are right?” He pauses, eyes searching.

Tony shrugs, _if that’s what you want_, skin itching to calling out his bullshit.

“You’re too giving when it comes to friends and I don’t want to abuse that privilege.” Steve jerks his chin up challengingly.

“You’re not.” Tony corrects him without missing a beat. “_I_ want to find him.” He insists.

“Tony -,” Steve takes a step forward, breath shuddering.

“Don’t worry!” Tony waves him off with a wink. “Nothing revengeful. Just want to… I don’t know? Stop it from happening again.” He shrugs. Swivelling 360 degree in his seat just to shake off the tension wearing down his shoulders. “Get him some proper help because like you said, it wasn’t him. So he deserves to have his life back, right? I saw his file -,” Recognition flickers through Steve’s eyes and Tony gathers that he’s not a complete stranger to Barnes’ torture after all. “Nobody deserves that.”

“Tony.” Steve works out his name in a weird sort of sigh, sagging against the worktable. Eyes softening and exhaustion clearly eating at his big bold Captain America form, revealing sliver of a smaller, frailer looking Steve Rogers.

“Don’t look like that, Capsicle.” Tony pokes at his thigh with the pen_. _

_It’s dangerous_, he doesn’t say. _It gives me wrong ideas. Like you’re vulnerable and want me to protect you. _Because it’s not Tony whom Steve wants, it’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes, _always_.

Steve doesn’t leave his position a long time after that. Even after Tony has turned back to work, forcing himself to concentrate and not think about a pair of blue eyes trained on his back. It makes goose bumps rise all along the back of his neck and below, and he resists the need to shudder minutely for as long as it takes for Steve to get out of his trance and get going.

Exactly 44 minutes. Tony counted.

-

The awkward energy stops after that.

Steve talks to him more freely. With his big body curled into the tiniest ball he could work into on the couch in the corner of Tony’s workshop, and they bond over what Tony dubbed as the ‘Bucky hunt’. Usually. When it’s not that, then it’s something trivial. Art, machines, pop cultures, music. But throughout all that, Tony can see how Steve is visibly more relaxed and loose than he had ever been around Tony ever.

The change makes Tony pin point all those moments Steve must have struggled to get the weight of truth out of his chest while they hung out before – about Howard and Maria. About Bucky Barnes and HYDRA.

It makes Tony shed another one of his own veil, shielding his interior.

Let Steve in through yet another gate.

And he hates it. But it feels inevitable.

How can he not let him in, when Steve opens his door wide for Tony? No shield, no veils, not a thing that can stop Tony an entry, and that’s unfairly trusting.

So he tells him about Pepper.

Just another day and Steve wishing him good morning over the daily newspaper as he sips on his orange juice and coffee, asking Tony what’s on his calendar.

Tony mumbles unintelligibly about another day in the workshop and probably needing to call Pepper to talk about some SI stuff and Steve asks the most apt follow-up question.

“I didn’t see Pepper since we came here. Is everything alright?”

And Tony pauses.

He thinks about piling up the lies he’d already begun since before Ultron. Hiding the truth of their breakup behind a bunch of jam-packed schedules and what-nots. But it _is_ too early in the morning to start spinning another thread of bullshit, plus, it’s _Steve_ –

He puts down his mug, picks up a slice of orange and examines the pulp under its. “There’s no reason for her come by. Not when we can deal business on video calls, etcetera.”

“But -,”

“Also, we broke up. Like six months ago.” He shrugs, finally pushing the slice in - the sweetness tasting more bitter on his tongue as the pulps burst on his tongue - fixing his gaze on Steve. Daring him to – To what exactly, he doesn’t even know.

“Oh.” Is all that he gets, as far as responses go.

When he refills the coffee mug to bring to his workshop half an hour later, it’s; “I’m sorry about Pepper.”

And that’s about it.

-

They’re arguing over Pride and Prejudice movie versus book – it was a ‘random movie night’ - when FRIDAY quips with a news.

Steve’s thighs sandwiching one of Tony’s calf as they sit on the opposing end of the couch, bantering with their newfound ease. Neither says anything about the ample of contact they’re making, seated like that. Instead, Steve presses fingers over the inside of Tony’s ankle, gentle unlike the fervour in which he argues his points with.

Touch-starved, is how Tony reasons Steve’s approaches. And it’s _fine_. He’s fine with it. He’s touch-starved too.

“If I may interrupt, boss, Captain. Seargent Barnes has just boarded a flight to New York.”

Steve’s breath hitches dramatically. Tony kind of goes stock still – unsure of what to do with himself. In the end, he says a soft ‘thank you’ to FRIDAY for letting know and waits for Steve to break the silence.

The grip around his ankle is a little tighter than it had been, almost as if Steve is using his hold on Tony to ground himself. Keep from hopping up in happiness or cry in relief. Because he sure does look like it.

“I don’t know what to say.” He admits after.

Tony feigns a nonchalance shrug, his own heart thundering. “Looks like he’s ready.”

-

“I don’t have five hours.” Tony explains to Pepper, her heels clicking away as they both march their way to her office.

Tony hates board meetings. No exaggerations there. But Pepper insisted that he attends this one because it is important hence, there he is, having almost lost his head sitting four hours in a room full of bald blood suckers.

But he made it through. Yay! For him.

And yet, Pepper isn’t happy with him.

“All you do is sit in your workshop and work on the R&D programme. It will be a refreshing for you. Go out, breathe some fresh alpine air and come back with rejuvenated mind.” She says in that serene way of her when there’s about only 15% chances for Tony to convince her otherwise. Because she has made up 75% of her mind.

“But Pep, that’s _your_ thing.” Tony carefully swallows the whine as they walk past an employee.

“Then what’s_ your_ thing Tony?” She asks, scarlet lips stretched into a stunning smile as Tony gives a quick wave and a bright grin at a familiar face.

“Metal and engine oil?”

Pepper gives her best death glare in a flick of an eye. Her pretty smile still etched perfectly all the while. For some weird reason, but not entirely an impossible feat to happen, Tony imagines her stabbing him with that pointy heel of her shoe. Which promptly makes him say;

“Nice shoes. New ones?” As he pushes open the door to her office, letting Pepper enter first.

She gives a fond eye roll as she walks past him. “A gift from someone who’d been stupidly stubborn and avoiding me.”

“Ah.” Tony exclaims, shutting the door and relishing from the tension that bleeds off of his shoulders from the comfort of their privacy. “That would be me. You’re welcome, Ms Potts.”

“Thank you, Mr Stark.” Pepper leans back on the table, arms crossed over her chest as she takes him in fully. Top to bottom in shrewd eyes. It makes Tony squirm.

“How have you been doing?” She asks softly, once she’s done with her inspection.

Tony plops himself onto the chair closest to her and starts swivelling side to side. “Good.” He answers honestly. “Cap and I went jogging the other day.”

Pepper immaculate brows shoot up at once. An amused quiver to the corner of her mouth as she regards him speculatively. “Jogging, huh.”

Tony gives a quick spin before coming to a stop in front of her. “More like, I tried while he accompanied.” He shrugs. “But fact remains, _I tried_.”

“Sure you did.” Pepper smiles. Manicured fingers cupping his cheek carefully as she rubs a thumb over the apple of his cheek. “Just make sure you take care of yourself, okay. I don’t want to find you – I don’t know, in a state that I don’t want to see. So, keep that in that genius brain of yours. I’m always here for you if you need me -,”

“Even at three AM?”

Pepper fixes him with an unimpressed look. “Yes. Even at three AM. Which doesn’t mean I won’t be cranky but I’ll _answer_. Or Rhodey. You know you can always reach the both of us, right?”

“You all have things to do.” Tony argues, disregarding the whine that breaks through the end of his sentence.

“Tony.” Pepper presses, snaking another hand so she’s cupping both of his cheeks, forcing his attention on her, singularly.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, fine. Alright. I’ll call.” And Pepper plants a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Good.” Before she lets go. “Now tell me about your Cap.”

“He’s not _my_ Cap!” Tony protests indignantly.

Pepper simply busies herself with her phone. “Sure, Tony. The sky isn’t blue. The Sun is a planet.”

“Well_ technically_, the sky is not blue.”

“Tony.”

“Pepper.”

-

He’s out of SI by noon. Flanked by Happy whom he shook off with some difficulty for a cup of iced coffee.

Good ol’ Starbucks. Tony wonders what’s new with that franchise these days. Which is why he doesn’t notice it at first. But once he’s walking out, the prickle on the back of his neck which always makes itself known whenever someone’s following him, catches his attention.

If he was somewhere else, he’d brush it off. But this is New York. A place where nobody gives a fuck. So, he can’t help but feel threatened. Anyone can jump him and New Yorkers will just breeze by minding their own business.

He barely manages to juggle between the coffee and the blasted tissues that keep sticking to his fingers to retrieve the phone from his pocket when he’s yanked around a corner and into a dark alley. Which, by the way - dark alley in broad daylight – a remarkable feat, NYC.

He opens his mouth to say something snarky like messing with Iron Man when he sees who it is. It instantly shuts him up for a good few seconds.

Then, because he cannot help it, he asks, “Cold brew?”

Bucky Barnes frowns at him. Baseball cap and a hooded jacket with an outstretched Henley underneath, looking like he’s missing few good showers. “You’re Stevie’s friend.”

Tony takes a quick sip. “Surprisingly, I _am_. By the way, hello to you too. I’m Tony Stark. Nice to meet you. Also, do you know it’s rude to just drag people into a deserted alley without a warning?”

“You talk a lot.” Barnes narrows his eyes. His pinched face becoming even more pinched and Tony wonders if all 40s people are good at making incredible frowny face that makes your skin shrivel and die.

“You want me to take you to Steve -,”

“No!” Barnes protests even before Tony could end the question.

Tony squints. The cold from his drink seeping from the plastic cup to his fingers, freezing. “Okaaay…,” He shifts the cup to another hand, shaking the other. Well, now what he’s supposed to do?

Barnes huffs, takes a step back, leaving a good amount of space between them and throws a quick glance over his shoulder. “I don’t want to see Steve. Not yet. I just want to know how he’s doing.” He murmurs the last part as if he’s ashamed of himself.

Tony takes a deep breath to push the rising nausea down. It’s sickening how stupidly besotted these two are for each other and Tony really shouldn’t be stuck in between, being a mediator but he’s whipped when it comes to Steve, frankly, and he also can’t help but to wonder about Barnes.

What is it about him that draws Captain America in like a moth to flame?

Who is Barnes actually? Stripped off his Winter Soldier façade and years of suffering, Tony wants to know who Barnes could be so he can make peace with the tragic fate his mother had encountered. Tony wants to know _who_ Bucky Barnes is, before he can shake that off his chest.

If he’s Captain America’s favourite, he cannot be half bad, right?

“Okay. But the last I ate was like at 2.30 yesterday and I’m starving so do you mind?” He jerks his head to the left.

Bucky Barnes regards him suspiciously. Tony gives him his million watt that always work the TV mad. “I don’t understand.” Barnes admits quietly.

To Tony’s credit, he almost banged his head on the mossy wall behind his head. Emphasis on _almost_.

Then he decides that it’s not worth the price of his hairspray so, he puts a hand over Barnes’ shoulder - which immediately tenses up and makes him crouch a little bit in a defensive stand so Tony extracts it and lifts his arms up like he did in that old HYDRA bunker – and he says, “I’m _hungry_, Tastee Freeze. If you come along with me, I’ll tell you all about your boyfriend.”

A series of emotions go through Barnes’ eyes before he eases up. Tony spots an open window and leaps out at once, beckoning the winter soldier to follow his lead.


	4. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s unsettling. Because the closest contact they’ve come to in clear conscience were all made during movie nights – which they still bull-headedly carry on despite the stark absence of their team – and even then, they’ve only touched by the ankles, thighs brushing one another. And if they did wind up tangled, plastered against one another, it’s during their sleep. Lost in dreams, and when they come awake, they part with blushes on their cheeks; the rest pray, never be talked about ever.

They eat shawarma in the backseat of Tony’s car.

Parked in the basement of SI building while Happy goes to have his lunch – or probably is sitting in the security room, keeping his eyes on the video feeds from cameras installed near the Audi, waiting for the Winter Soldier to lay one on Tony.

Tony gets tahini sauce on his tie while Barnes watch with hooded, almost glazed, punch-drunk eyes, as he fumbles with tissues and tries to get the spot.

“Gah!” Tony exclaims when he only manages to smear it even worse, giving up with, “Well, at least I don’t have to face Pepper with this.” And when he looks up, Barnes is rolling up a clean sheet of tissue and reaching for the mess like even he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

Tony sits still, heart in his throat as Barnes handles the smear with careful gentleness and gets most of it off. He cringes when Barnes tips out his tongue to get saliva as his cleaning agent but he doesn’t comment on it. Couldn’t.

“Stevie used to get messy.” Barnes recollects in a low murmur. He gives a last swipe over the material before leaning back, staring confusedly at the now crumpled ball of used tissue, almost shredded at its tips and he stays frozen for an entire minute like that. Which sends Tony into an overdrive. Unsure whether he should panic or not, holding his breath with a thumb hovering over a switch installed in the handle of the car door – to activate the suit – while he waits for Barnes to snap out of it.

“Hey.” He tries, when he gets too impatient and starts getting fidgety. “Let me know who’s in there, Barnes.”

Barnes’ eyes snap up to him, fist clenching around the tissue ball then he promptly looks away. Going back to pulling at the end of the lettuce peeking out of his untouched shawarma.

Tony breathes out his relief quietly, beat by beat, his throat spasming as he digs finger tips into the groove of the car handle instead. “You can’t go around leaning into people’s space like that, buddy.” He chastises Barnes light-heartedly.

The man opens his mouth to probably apologize but Tony cuts him off, “Not if you have no intentions of kissing them. It’s called ‘leading on’, in this century, and that’s not cool at all.”

Barnes closes his mouth to cock his head to the left, regarding Tony as if he’s a curious piece of puzzle. Tony indulges him for a moment by visibly preening.

“Okay. So what do you want to know about your_ Stevie_?” Tony tries the name on his tongue, rolling it out carefully and decides it’s not bad, especially if he needs to make fun of Captain America when circumstances necessitate. He crumples his now empty wrapper and tosses it into the paper bag.

“Just – How is he doing?” Barnes frowns at his lunch. Tony nudges him with one outstretched knee. “You eat that while I talk, okay. I take offense when people don’t eat what I buy for them.”

“I don’t know what this is.” Barnes _almost_ whines, huffing in frustration at the fold-over and Tony clutches his sternum in reflex as his heart stutters. He refuses to analyse in depth, what his response to Barnes mean as he dives into a little cultural explanation himself.

“It’s called shawarma?”

“Shoo-wam-ma” Barnes repeats grumpily after him and Tony supresses the bubbling chuckle.

“Shawarma. It’s a Lebanese food, with meat, pickled onions or vegetables and little bit of salad, dressed with this awesome cause called tahini which is made from toasted sesame seeds - which frankly, you’ll regret for life if you don’t try - and it’s all wrapped up in a pita bread. Try it. This is the best so far in my three years of shawarma hunting. The first one I had was horrible so I’ve been looking for one to redeem myself with the team? So, yeah. I mean. Try it. Then decide if you like it or not.” He encourages, grinning when Barnes finally brings it up to his mouth, eyes flicking suspiciously towards Tony.

“I like the sauce.” Barnes decides eventually. Half of the shawarma gone in barely a minute after his first bite. Tony thinks he might like it even more than he’s letting on, but this is good enough of a review for him.

“Good.” He leans back in his seat. Smiling in satisfaction as he tucks away his phone into his blazer’s pocket. “So like Steve is doing well. He’s not so messy – or maybe I’m messier than him so I cannot see it – I don’t know. Either way, he’s thrilled about finding you and he cannot wait for you to come back to him.” Tony shrugs.

Barnes stops midbite, stiffening visibly.

Tony realises that by mentioning about coming back, he’s putting pressure on Barnes and hurries to correct himself, “Which is not a rush. You can take your time. Or if you don’t want to at all, it’s alright too.” He waits for Barnes to relax and finish his lunch but apparently his misstep was a bit too much as Barnes gives up on the food.

“He’ll hate me.” Barnes says quietly, thumb pressing at the edge of the aluminium foil wrapper around the pita.

Tony frowns. “And why is that?”

Barnes doesn’t answer. Simply mumbles out a thanks him for the lunch and the information. He doesn’t say it explicitly, but it’s in the layer of his gratitude, asking Tony take care of Steve and Tony lurches when Barnes opens the door by his side, refusing to let it end just yet.

“How do I reach you?” He asks with poorly concealed franticness. “You know if something happens to Steve or -,”

Barnes ducks his head so he’s looking inside the car. “I know you’re tracking me Stark.” Which momentarily shuts Tony up. He’s not growling or in manner, wording it so Tony would stop – he’s just stating it. Like a fact he’d known all along. But there’s a smirk in there. A mocking one.

It’s not as if he underestimated the Winter Soldier’s skill set. He knew the moment Barnes accepted the card, that he was agreeing to being tracked. But it still momentarily takes him off guard when Barnes pointed it out like that.

Long enough to let Barnes slip out of his sight.

-

“I hear you’re a messy eater.” Tony greets Steve in the communal floor, tugging on the knot of his pinstripe tie until it’s loose enough to undo the first two buttons of his Armani.

He abandons the blazer and keeps the waistcoat on, sauntering into the kitchen for something to drink. Steve intercepts him at the dining table, dragging his attention to a clear pot of what looks like a freshly steeped green tea.

“I’m not.” Steve says, scratching at his sketchbook with a pencil as Tony rounds up, filling in a tea cup and pulling a chair opposite him.

He lets the warmth of the tea sit on his tongue as he watches Steve, clearly in the peace of his mind, drowned in his hobby. The regret is there when he thinks about how close he is to ruining it with a single name. But he also wonders what if it brings joy instead?

Maybe Steve would like to hear about Tony running into Barnes. Maybe it’ll placate some of his worries about his brooding boyfriend.

So, Tony swallows the tea and he comes clean. “Barnes says the opposite.” And he sits back as he watches the effect of that single name unfolds over America’s national icon.

Steve goes from stunned to confused and wild in less than a millisecond. “What do you mean?” He demands in his Captain voice.

Tony clutches the end of his chair from keeping him shudder. “He cornered me while I was coming out of a coffee shop and he wanted to know how you are. So I bought him shawarma and told him you’re good.”

The sharp snap of the pencil takes both Tony and Steve, himself by surprise. “Sorry.” He murmurs dully, sweeping the shards aside and closing the sketchbook.

Tony takes a big sip of the tea, forcing his heart to chill the fuck out.

“Did he – I – I mean,” Steve stammers, sighing at his own clumsiness as he pauses to clench and unclench his jaw several times. “How is he?” He asks alas.

Tony wiggles his left fingers when they begin to tingle, feeling like prickle of numbness spreading upwards like they always do these days. “He got new set of clothing on. Looks… healthy. Good. But he really needs a shower, Cap.” He clucks his tongue. “I’m being honest here.

Steve plants his head in his hands, with a world weary sigh. He stays like that, breathing in and out in silence as Tony finishes his first cup and goes for a second, where he startles as Steve’s shoulders started to shake.

Timidly, he reaches for the man. “Hey, Cap?” But Steve doesn’t look up so he grinds his teeth and squeezes shaking shoulder. “Steve?” He tries softly.

Which work spectacularly as Steve breaks, looking up with tear glazed eyes but a beautiful full-blown wide grin outstretched on his face which blows Tony’s breath away.

The ‘wow’ dies on his tongue and lets it be as he takes in the way Steve tries and fails to contain his happiness. For a moment, Tony forgets what they’re even talking about, until Steve catches his breath and wheezes, “You can’t tell Bucky things like that, Tony.”

Right, Tony corrects himself. Bucky. 

“I didn’t tell _him_. I’m telling you. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t actively seek after danger.” He pulls himself together and puts on an offended glare.

Steve doesn’t seem to care. The relief of knowing his Bucky is doing well seems to have spun him on an adrenaline wheel as he coughs and splutters. “Shawarma, though?”

Tony scowls. “I’ll have you know, it is as good as a Shawarma can get. The best so far. Plus, your boyfriend likes the sauce.”

Steve rolls his eyes, his laughter finally ceasing as he pries back open the sketchbook, flipping to the page he last stopped at and staring mournfully at the snapped pencil, before deciding on using the front end like an uncultured Neanderthal. “You’re not hurt thought, right?” He snaps his attention back to Tony, regarding him with narrowed eyes.

“Pfft. You’re overestimating your beau, Cap. He’s mellowed down now.” Tony chugs down the rest of his tea, moving to wash the cup and perhaps get a good hour in the bath. The memory of Barnes’ grime feel sticky on his own skin.

“You’re something.” Steve chuckles, with a smile etched to stay on his face.

Tony doesn’t point out how Steve never denied that Barnes is his boyfriend.

-

He’s lying awake in his bed at an ungodly hour when he gets the idea.

“JARVIS? Can you pull up our Snowflake’s current location?”

“Sure, boss.” _FRIDAY_ answers without a grain of salt.

Tony’s heart shrivels up and dies in its cage. He mouths a quiet ‘fuck’ under his breath, composing himself to focus on his task as he mutters a grateful ‘thank you’ to FRIDAY.

_Thank you for not correcting me. Thank you for tolerating me._

“Do you think he’d be surprised if we ship him a phone, Fri?” He muses out aloud.

“I doubt he would, boss. He’s already suspicious about my following him and is yet to stray out of his obvious patterns.”

“Huh.” Tony expresses, fingers going to his van-dyke, rubbing them as he lets his thoughts astray about Barnes.

Clearly the man is consenting the whole creepy stalking part. And comfortable with it as well, if the way he holds himself in front of those camera feeds are anything to tell. So, the only thing that’s stopping him from coming back to Steve is Steve himself. Which makes Tony wonder, _why?_

What did Steve say or do that obliterated the ease in Barnes?

Then he recalls Barnes saying how Steve will hate him. Which is confusing too, because… why?

Why would Steve hate Barnes? What has Barnes done, which would warrant him that much of an out-lash from Captain America.

Because as far as Tony knows, there is _nothing_ that Barnes could do which would make Steve hate him. Therefore –

“Boss? Captain Rogers is requesting entrance.”

Tony scrambles to sit up. “Oh. Urm, yeah. Sure. Grant him.” He waves off with feigned absentness that doesn’t match with the quake in his voice.

If FRIDAY catches it, she remains a darling and doesn’t point it out.

Steve looks unsure when he opens the door. His eyes darting to take every inch of the room while periodically circulating back to Tony as he clears his throat and takes one step in. “Sorry for the late call, Tony.” He smiles abashedly, fidgeting by the door. “I couldn’t sleep and was talking to FRIDAY when she mentioned you’re awake as well.”

“Ah.” Tony shoots a discreet glance to the top corner of the room – where FRIDAY’s omnipresent metaphorical eyes lain. “She’s not entirely incorrect, Cap. Got any ideas to fill our void this evening?”

“It’s past two in the morning.” Steve points out with a smile.

Tony shrugs, “Night, then. Midnight? Pick whichever you like, Capsicle.” He throws his legs over the edge of his bed, moving to stand up.

Steve lurches forward from his position by the door at once, then catches himself and holds back rigidly. “I-,” He begun. Uncharacteristically ducking his head and scratching at his nape. Tony watches him with interest, still seated on the bed now that his thoughts have halted to a brief stop. “Cap?” He asks, when Steve still doesn’t open his mouth.

It’s softer than a whisper of breath when Steve says what he says. But Tony hears it all the same. In the dim quietness of the room where even the last rogue of Manhattan has gone dead silent, he catches what Steve requests and his own breath stutters in his chest from sheer disbelief.

“What?” He asks, feeling faint. Not because he didn’t hear it but because he isn’t sure he heard it right.

Steve pulls his shoulders tight and looks him straight in the eyes. There’s defiance in his own when he repeats confidently, “Can I stay here, tonight?”

-

Fifteen minutes later, there are series of optional remarks running through Tony’s mind;

_Why, Capsicle. Didn’t know you like me that way._

_Is something bothering you, Steve?_

_I’d stopped myself a number of times from dreaming about this._

_Is this something you do with all your friends, Cap? Share a bed?_

_What does this mean, Steve?_

\- And there’s that feeble desperate plead that echoes in loop in the back of them all;

_Please don’t give me hopes like this._

But all Tony manages to say in the next 20 minutes and 31 seconds is nothing, except a single nod which permitted Steve to close rest of the distance between them, climb in bed with Tony and pull him against his chest.

And there’s Steve, who’s silent with his chest pressed against Tony’s stiff back and he’s breathing hotly over Tony’s neck, stirring goose bumps in their awakening, setting fire to his nerves and making his toes curl inwards.

It’s unsettling. Because the closest contact they’ve come to in clear conscience were all made during movie nights – which they still bull-headedly carry on despite the stark absence of their team – and even then, they’ve only touched by the ankles, thighs brushing one another. And if they did wind up tangled, plastered against one another, it’s during their sleep. Lost in dreams, and when they come awake, they part with blushes on their cheeks; the rest pray, never be talked about ever.

But this time, they lay like_ that_ \- _awake, conscious_ \- for 10 more minutes. Or Steve lies, holding onto a Tony who’s given up on all forms of power over his body to be manoeuvred freely by Steve for 30 minutes. Before Steve decides to speak, his voice a gruff rumble that rattles the cage holding Tony’s heart, with each word.

“Sam called.” He says. “He asked how the search is spanning out. Where am I this time.”

Something clicks in Tony’s mind. “You still haven’t,” He pauses, reconstructing his words to make it sound kinder. “He still doesn’t know you’re staying at the tower.”

Steve breathes in extended pause. Neither conforming nor denying Tony’s statement. Then, he carries on, “They got a whiff about some secret HYDRA transaction.”

Tony freezes in Steve’s hold. The thought of being alone again – of Steve leaving for a mission and the absence of assurance if Steve will come back. The thought of walking into the communal floor with nobody cooking up breakfast in the kitchen or watching news on TV. The loss of movie nights. Again.

No more Steve slipping into the workshop to call Tony out for breaks. No more curled form of a super soldier in the couch at the corner – the now grown familiar scratch of pencil on sketchpad while Tony works with his own things. No more Steve smiling at him, laughing or looking hopeful whenever Tony brings up Barnes. And Barnes –

Tony opens his mouth but Steve’s strained confession pours over cutting him off effectively.

“I don’t want to go.”

Tony swallows, his throat aching with that simple physiological action. He suppresses the word that threatens to jump out at Steve. Swallowing back an over eager ‘_What?’ _valiantly.

Steve shakes as he inhales, his hands trembling over Tony’s midriff. “He asked if I would make it back for the mission and I said no.” His horror overclouds Tony, making him put his own hands over Steve’s, covering.

“I said, no, Tony.” He ducks his head, cold nose squishing into the bare strip of skin over Tony’s shoulder. “I said, no.” He mumbles, shakily.

Tony bites the inside of his cheeks, thrown off guard by everything all at once, yet, aching to comfort the man wrapped around him, holding him like a vice, desperate for something – which Tony doesn’t know exactly but interprets as assurance, which if it is, then he’s so willing to give.

Anything really. To be honest. Anything. Tony is willing to give Steve _anything_.

In the end, when the shakes subsides and a sound sob hitches Steve’s breathing, Tony whispers to him. “It’s okay to say no, Steve. It’s okay.”

Steve tenses for a second then thaws into Tony, curling over Tony until he’s pressed flushed against his back, shins against the back of Tony’s legs, forehead pressed into the crook of Tony’s neck, arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s waist, clinging.

Tony pats his hands. Circles his thumb over the space between Steve’s own thumb and forefinger for a minute of two until Steve relaxes enough for him to squirm and shift around so he’s facing the man head first.

He carefully pushes Steve back into the crook of his neck, pulling him close so they’re hugging from front, Steve’s hands now resting in between Tony’s shoulder blades while Tony’s at the nape of his neck and the other curling around the back of his head, massaging his scalp as he holds back just as tightly.

“It’s healthy to say no once in a while, Steve.” He murmurs into soft blond stands. “God knows you’ve said yes so many times now. Even when you _cannot_, you’ve said yes. It’s about time you say no. Keep in your mind that you’re not alone. You have a whole team for a back-up, Steve. Even if you’re not involved in the mission, it’s still going to go on because Sam will lead. Or Nat. Or Rhodey.”

“You’re not alone, Steve.” Tony says firmly, cupping Steve’s cheeks and tipping his head back. “You hear me, big guy? Even super soldiers need some rest.”

Steve meets his eyes, bright blue, clouded in worries and thunderstorm. Tony wipes away a streak of tear down his left cheek. “Yeah?” He asks breathily, his own throat spasming painfully, taking in the broken shards of Steve Rogers. Wondering if it’s a privilege or if it’s all his accumulated sins that lined him up to witness this, because god, does his heart _aches _for this man.

This icon of a man, who’s known to stand tall, to have punched Hitler in the face. A _hero_. Yet, here he is, shredded to unrecognizable pieces in Tony’s arms because his sense of duty is clashing with his wants. Because he’s broken, just like they all are and has been too tough to show it until now.

“Yeah.” Steve breathes back, forcing himself to smile, which Tony wipes away with a frown. And a strict, “No.”

“Drop the mask. Don’t wear it here. Don’t wear it now. Just – Drop it.”

_Don’t wear it in front of me. I won’t wear mine._

Steve takes another shuddering breath before curling back into Tony. Pulling him flush, head tucked back into the crook of his neck as he breathes wetly there, until the morning Sun arrives.

-

When Tony blinks awake, he’s hot to the base of his spine; his pores working out a sheen of sweat the moment his conscience acknowledges the heat. He moves, trying to extract himself from the furnace that is Steve Rogers without waking him, but Steve’s _already_ awake.

Sleepy blues staring down with a lovely little smile and Tony tries not to think too much about the absence of blush this time.

Steve lets him go without a fight.

Tony with his cheeks burning and hand climbing up to the back of his neck to scratch at the discomfort creeping up there. Tony who gasps in surprise when Steve thumbs the apple of his cheek with wider smile and bluer eyes whispering good morning to him and where Tony almost wishes it comes wrapped in a kiss, Steve tells him; “I like it when you call me Steve. Not Cap. Not Capsicle. But _Steve_.”

And just like that, he’s out of the bed, and out of the room. Leaving Tony gaping with his neck craned from his plush pillow, trying to catch the trail of unsaid meanings behind Steve’s footsteps.

He doesn’t find them there.

He doesn’t find them anywhere.

-

He finds Steve in his usual spot. Head behind newspaper as he probs at the scrambled eggs and bacon with his right hand. Right across him is a steaming mug of black coffee and an untouched plate of breakfast.

Tony pauses in his step for a beat before pulling out the chair and claiming his own seat opposite Steve.

“They dedicated an entire column here for a movie called The Pianist.” Steve hums from behind his paper.

Tony grunts absently, poking at his own eggs as he sniffs about his coffee and lets the caffeine work its magic as he tips down half of the cup down his throat.

“Have you seen it?” He asks blurrily after a few minutes. Well past one page of news Steve had moved on from.

“Seen what?” Steve asks, peering over the top of the spread.

Tony juts his chin out, grimacing at the texture of the eggs on his tongue. “The Pianist, what else.”

“Oh.” Steve says. “No I don’t think I have. Does it taste bad?” He frowns at the eggs.

“Tastes like eggs.” Tony shrugs. Then, “It’s set during World War two. Nazi in Poland and concentration camp, all that. Revolves around this pianist and how he basically survives through it. If you want -,” He looks up at Steve with careful expressions, “We can watch it. But _only_ if you want.” He half shrugs, stuffing his mouth with a strip of bacon.

Steve flicks the paper and goes back to it, humming thoughtfully under his breath. Tony doesn’t hang onto the subject, choosing to focus on putting food into his empty stomach, washing them all down with good coffee.

He cleans his plate up before he asks, “How are you feeling?”

He lets his question sit as he wanders to the sink, rinsing both Steve’s and his plates and cutleries before topping up his coffee, Steve’s with orange juice, before he walks back to his seat.

“Hmm?” He presses gently, sliding onto his chair and tapping lightly at the newspaper barricading them from looking at each other.

Steve drops and folds the paper with a resigned sigh. The flush creeping up his neck catching Tony’s attention at once as he forcefully skims his eyes over to meet Steve’s.

“You’re not still beating yourself up, are you?” Tony narrows his eyes at him. “Cause if you are, then I’m gonna have to approach this another way.” He wags his index playfully.

Steve lets out a snort, smile quirking up at the one corner. “No, I’m not still beating myself up. But I’m curious about your _other_ approach. What does it entail?”

Relief washes through Tony, the tension which he didn’t even realise was weighing down his shoulder bleeding out, making him almost sag in his seat. “Good.” He says, meaning it wholly. “The other approach would involve long hours in front of the TV doing nothing but marathoning bullshit content and cuddling up with a fleece blanket which _now _you’re free of.” He gives a thumb up, sipping at his second cup of coffee and eyeing the abandoned newspaper warily.

Brows go up on Steve’s forehead as he cocks his head curiously, quite like a kitten as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Hmmm,” He hums cryptically. “Maybe I could benefit from that approach.” He says in all straight conviction, making Tony choke on his coffee and splutter, “Wha-at?”

“I don’t know. I’m not feeling bad but I’m not exactly feeling good either,” He shrugs innocently, all big blue puppy eyes. But the wicked glint in those bright blue eyes of his tell a whole other, different story. “Maybe I’ll feel better after long hours of TV and cuddling.” He smiles that perfect little naïve looking smile of his and goddamn, Tony is not even slightly fooled by it.

But.

Which is how Tony ends up tucked under Steve’s chin bundled up in fleece blankets with FRIDAY carefully controlling the temperature so neither of them get heat stroke or something akin.

“Your elbow’s digging into my rib.” Tony grumbles into muscly chest.

“Shhh.” Steve hushes him, shifting to fix the problem then going back to running his fingers through Tony’s curls.

It’s a fairly wide sofa. With room for Tony to prop up his tablet beside Steve’s shoulder and work with half his mind shuttered because their legs are tangled up. He’s lying on top of Captain America who is dead set on not letting Tony go, keeping him pinned with one heavy arm over his lower back and another in between his shoulder blades, fingers playing with Tony’s hair.

In Tony’s defence, he got dragged into this. Literally.

As in, he was staging an escape once what Steve was saying dawned upon him but got tackled halfway to the elevator and put into a firm but carefully not suffocating head-lock as Steve dragged him to pick up the necessities to build a fucking nest.

So there they are. Tony, with his stuttering heart and flaring nerves hiding behind a grumpy face while Steve holds him indulgently.

It’s not fair is what it is. _Not fair_.

“Boss?” Friday quips quietly, almost hesitant.

“Yes, darling?” Tony answers around a stiff jaw, from propping his head atop Steve’s chest for a prolonged period of time.

Steve kindly mutes the movie, letting it run with the subtitles on.

“You have a call coming through from a Mr. Barton.”

“Ah.” Tony shifts, scrambling to sit up and surprisingly, so does Steve. Retrieving his arms and both sliding away to put a measurable distance in between them, heat crawling up their neck.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Tony’s brain supplies that this is how most teens behave when their parents come home and they don’t want to get caught red handed doing… well, let’s not go there. Right.

“I’ll take this call somewhere else,” Tony makes to stand up but Steve beats him to that, rolling up the blankets – which makes Tony’s stomach drop in heavy disappointment because, he may have grumbled his way through it, but he was really enjoying their cuddle session and Steve packing up the blankets means it’s the end.

“No, I’ll go. You stay.” Steve smiles tightly. “I’ll be in my room.”

Tony smiles back reassuringly. “Okay,” He says, eyes darting to Steve’s hands. “Lunch after?”

“Lunch after.” Steve’s smile softens and then, he’s out, the elevator door closing shut behind him.

Tony heaves a sigh, rubbing at his temple as he calls for FRIDAY. “You can patch Barton through now, missy.”

“Of course, boss.” She answers cheerily, pulling up a holo-screen with a world weary looking Hawkeye.

Eyes crinkled with visible wrinkles, smile lines and yet he had never looked happier than he does now. Tony’s heart pangs achingly, remembering the hunch he used to walk around the tower’s hallways with – as if there was an unsaid burden wearing down on him - just months ago.

Maybe retirement is good, he muses to himself.

“Well, that is rude. I was getting all the dirt from Miss Fri and now you have to all – shove your face up at me now. Also, not looking so good there, Stark. What’s up. Missing me and my awesomeness?” He snipes with all his familiar snarky-ness and Tony rolls his eyes at him.

“Oh please. You wish.” He waves jokingly.

Barton gasps, clasping at his chest with his hand and a mock aghast on his stupid face. “My, oh my. Dare I say, retirement has washed the best of your assholery away, Stark.”

Tony snorts. “And you’re looking like a grandpa.” Injecting the right amount of vile into his retort.

Barton breaks into a hearty laugh, ducking smartly as something flies past his head. “Watch it, Lilah!” He calls out absently, picking up his laptop and marching Tony away to somewhere more private.

Tony respectfully stays silent until he’s settled. Working on some of his hanging schematics on the miniaturized pages he pulled out at the bottom right corner of the holo-screen.

He twists the screen to follow him as he moves away from facing the glass windows to standing with his back against them. “How’re the little agents doing?” He asks when Barton’s face pops up again, replacing his chest.

“Aww, very well. If I have any say in it. We have an addition -,”

“Nathaniel. I heard.” Tony smirks. “Congratulations!”

“You’re the second last to wish me.” Barton glowers at him.

“Know I shouldn’t feel better about that, but I do. And may I ask, who’s the last?”

Barton rolls his eyes at him, the smile on his face appearing to be a permanent fixture now and Tony’s given up waiting for it to vanish. “Cap.” He answers brightly, “Though it’s because he’s on a mission to find his buddy, so he’s forgiven and therefore I change my mind, you are now the last one.” He smirks viciously at Tony.

“Hey!” Tony protests. “Not fair.” If only they know where their Captain actually is. “I insist on being -,”

“Yeah, yeah. Be second last. Sure, if that’ll put you to sleep.” Barton waves him off. “I called Nat the other day. She said you dropped by but didn’t stay to say hi, Stark? Are you dropping us all off your radar now? Think you can be free of us again, huh?” He asks teasingly, but there’s an obvious weight slipped between those words that Tony cannot ignore, even if he tries his best.”

“Don’t think that’s how viruses work, Hawkeye.” He clucks his tongue.

“Viruses?” Barton squawks. “That’s what you’ve reduced us too? Viruses? Seriously? You son of -,”

“Barton?” Tony calls at the frozen image. “FRI?” He tries when his taps go futile and Barton still remains frozen.

But it’s Hawkeye who answers him instead of FRIDAY. “Stark you have a pair of eyes on your six.” He recites, mission mode on, like they’re back hunting HYDRA bunkers and Tony’s catching Hawkeye jumping off buildings shooting arrows at assholes.

Tony inhales sharply. Frozen for a second before all of his senses fires up, rusty but not completely forgotten. “Anyone we know?” He asks, sending all the miniaturized pages with schematics away with a swipe of his hand, and picking up his glass of water, taking a sip to keep his hands from giving away his nerves.

“We’d be damned.” Barton exhales, his frozen face now thawed back to his happy ones which Tony knows is an act to not draw any attention to themselves; keep it normal, keep it as normal as they can be.

“What is it, Hawkeye?” He asks in a sing song, plopping down on the sofa. At least if a sniper is to snipe, he can duck and roll and activate his armour in that 10 seconds interval.

“Looks like our Cap’s not looking in the right place, dude. That’s the winter soldier, if I can tell one. I’m sending signal to Nat-,”

“No!” Tony objects, a tad too loud than he meant. Barton’s eyebrows climb up the roof.

“No need to call the others.” He cough. Trying hard to reassemble himself from his slip while Barton gives him the funny look. “I’ll signal Cap myself -,”

“Tony.” Barton cuts him off. “That’s the _winter soldier_. I’m not demeaning your capabilities but dude, even Cap grazed death the last time they faced off.”

Tony winces. “Okay but Cap didn’t have an amazing armour like mine and does it look like he’s gonna pull a trigger on me anytime soon?” He nods meaningfully to his right, heart thundering wildly in his chest.

Barton gives a frustrated huff. “Fine.” He says, “If you’re not calling me back in ten, I’m sending the signal anyways.” And the call ends, on that note.


	5. Adrenaline, a Devilish Scam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay! Let me get this straight, snowflake. I’m making an offer for you to stay here – I’ll arrange a whole floor for you or if you want to share with Steve, up to you, details, we’ll get there – but the point is, you can stay here from now on, if you want, and well – I mean, free of charge, food is provided and everything basically. So? What do you say?”

Tony slumps into his seat, face in his hands as he gathers his breath. _Shit, shit, shit –_

“FRIDAY?” He almost growls.

“Forgive me boss, but you asked me to alert you only if Seargent Barnes is in any form of danger or planning an attack -,”

“Then, what is he doing there, FRIDAY?” His temper boiling to burst as he presses at his temple, attempting to ward off an impending headache.

“He’s doing what he’s been doing since his arrival in New York, Boss. He’s keeping an eye on both you and the Captain.”

“Fuck.” He breathes. “_Fuck.”_ Does that mean he was watching Steve cuddling with Tony? And what else really –

“Give me a pattern, FRI.” He groans into his hands.

“Pattern, boss?”

“The time, missy. Give me when he usually props himself up there and fuck do I want to be mad – Yes, yes. I know, FRI. Don’t bother. I know we deserve this for being a creep ourselves. Still – Jesus! Not the right time to be caught. Especially by Barton. Shit – Barton. Now I have to deal with Barton and possibly, an entire team of Avengers. _Fucking_ _fuck_.” He rambles, skimming past images and videos of Barnes hiding – or perhaps, deliberately _not_ hiding – atop the opposite building’s roof, a binocular in hand.

“Should I alert the Captain, boss?”

“No!” Tony loses it. “No, please. Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell. Just, not yet, baby girl.” He sighs, plopping back into his seat, brain working a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to do now that he’s caught between an inappropriately concerned Barton and a spying Winter Soldier who’s apparently is yet to come to peace with his boyfriend – enough to see him now, at least. Panic leads to manic energy and that kind of pull his strings together, making his brain think of something quick, but not very clumsy it’ll blow up on all of their faces.

Standing up with a somewhat feasible plan, he presses the activation button on his wrist watch. “FRI, start a ten minutes timer from the time Barton ended the call please. Daddy has a snowflake he wants to check up on.” He murmurs as the armours begins sheathing him inside, faceplate closing with a prim ‘thunk’ and FRIDAY greets him from the HUD.

“You have eight minutes and 13 seconds, boss.” She chirps excitedly as the window panels open up for Tony to take a flamboyant dive down before twirling upward and a sharp jolt towards the roof to get him hovering right in front of an unamused soldier.

“Alright, darling. Schedule an automatic call to Hawkeye once the timer ends, thank you.” And he flips open the faceplate. “You should have been more discreet.” He makes a loud landing, fist down. Quite impressive, by his measure. Truly. 

Barnes on the other hand, has the audacity to snort. “Coming from the most flashy and obnoxious person. Yeah, sure.” He rolls onto his back, hiking himself up the cement of a water reservoir and tucking his binocular into his hoodie.

Tony pushes the eject button and steps out of his armour, dusting his raggedy Metallica shirt and grease stained jeans off like some prissy ass princess. “You do realise that you’re welcomed in, right?”

“Passing that amount of security you got around your place without causing a scene?” Barnes shrugs. “After office hours, sure. But not so sure about it being polite though.”

Tony makes a face at him. “So you think, watching me and your boyfriend from the roof of the opposite building like a creep is socially more acceptable? Is that it.”

“Takes one to know one.” Barnes answers without a bite.

He looks good, Tony thinks. Sure, the dark circles beneath his eyes speak of sleepless nights and he still looks gaunt enough to give Jack O’ Lantern a run for the money. But something about the way he speaks to Tony now, lighter, just a little bit more freer.

Yeah, Tony decides. He looks good.

“Alright snowflake. You kinda scared off my buddy just now, so he’s onto me, pestering about getting help and what-not cause you’re the legendary big bad wolf and all that. So what do you say, we take this tete-a-tete into my place where maybe you can have something to drink and eat and yada yada, huh?”

“You should.” Grey eyes regard him from beneath thick eyelashes.

Tony swallows. Stealing a glimpse at his wristwatch – four more minutes. “I should what?”

Barnes huffs incredulously. “You should be scared. You should get help.” He stands up, taller all of a sudden – making Tony feel a little tremor up his spine. Because, victim or not, fella is huge as fuck. A super fucking soldier indeed. “You should run.” Barnes adds lowly, stepping into Tony’s space. Head tilted sideways, studying.

Tony doesn’t back down. Instead, he stands upright, nose up in the air, feet floating on bricks of ego. “Well, I’m not. And I won’t.” He announces firmly. 

Their chests almost brush. That’s how close Barnes allows them to be before he turns away, raking his fingers through his greasy hair. “You’re an idiot, then.”

“Meh.” Tony shrugs. “Pepper’s called me worse, so whatcha say, soldier boy? Penthouse, drink, food and party?” He taps distractedly at his chest. The pressure of the time closing in, sinking down on him.

“Party?”

“Figure of speech, Buckaroo. Come on.” He steps back into the armour. “Hop on my feet please?” He lifts an armoured leg up when Barnes looks at him questioningly. “Come on, come on. Before Barton bites my butt.”

Barnes throws him a disbelief look before stepping up with reservations that Tony couldn’t be bothered with, so he does the stupidest thing he could think of and scoops Barnes into his arms; bridal style, before jetting straight back into the open glass panels, landing on the sleek ceramic communal floor with a wide eyed and poleaxed looking Winter Soldier.

“Okay.” He drops the man unceremoniously onto the couch, letting the armour peel away as he marches into the kitchen, holding up a warning hand at Barnes. “I’m gonna make a quick call, so you try to sit still and do not enter the frame, can you do that for me? You can watch TV if you want, FRIDAY, please entertain our honorary guest, honey.”

The timer ticks down, the dial tone begins and the TV comes alive in the very same second; a rippling set of motion in contrast to the stillness between a frozen Tony and Barnes who looks so vexed, he may be turning red –

“Tony?” Tony gladly snaps his eyes away from his furious guest to a tensed Barton.

“Hey, Clint.” He waves. “Like I said, I took care of it. Everything’s peachy.” He gives a too bright grin and two thumbs up.

And then -

“Tony? Did you take the armour ou-,” Steve pops out of the elevator, FRIDAY’s stressed out warning echoing behind him to please retreat back to his floor, and he stops dead on his track. One foot out of the elevator and one still inside.

“Shit.” Tony curses, leaping over a kitchen stool to get to Barnes before he flees? Attack? Whichever. Both.

“Bucky?”

Barton’s voice is a surprised, “Is that Cap?”

_Chaos! Chaos!_ Tony’s brain screams. Everyone acting at the same time, making his heart thump dangerously wild and he may be going into a panic state –

_Think! Think!_ He yells back at it.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He wipes a hand over the suspended holo-screen that’s following him, making it disappear. Then to FRIDAY he says, “It’s _okay_, love. Please make up something for Barton. Thank you.”

And to Steve – God, _Steve_, who looks so gobsmacked, but nothing in comparison to how Bucky Barnes is stood, directly in front of him; paler than a spread of pasty papers.

So he stands himself directly in front of Barnes, hiding him – with what he may with his limited width and height, a poor excuse for barrier – and he tells Steve, “Cap, I need you to calm down. Take the elevator down to your suit and please, _please _wait for me to give you the green light?” He pleads, catching Steve’s wide blue eyes and holding them captive. “Please?”

Steve falters, eyes shifting back to regard his boyfriend and then to Tony and Tony knows he has a lot of explanation to do when Steve looks at him like he’s not above reprimanding. But he’s fortunate enough to have Captain America listen to him.

Steve turns around without another word and leaves.

Tony takes a deep breath – maybe two, or three and a half – before he turns to regard Barnes.

An unamused pair of tired eyes greet him back. Tony tries for a smile but ends up with a grimace. “How’s that for a party?” He spreads his arms out as if to say ‘voila!’. Barnes looks at him like he wants to hurl Tony out of the window; 100 feet down the tower. Dead.

Tony swallows thickly.

“You said, step on your feet.” Barnes growls.

For a moment, Tony believes he heard him wrong. “What?”

“You said, step on your feet. I don’t appreciate being carried around like a fucking princess.” He spits, plopping onto the couch like that past horrific one minute – the one where they got confronted by Steve and Clint at the same instant - did not even happen.

“I’m confused.” Tony scratches his beard, feeling slightly awkward standing there whilst Barnes is seated. “Are you telling me that you’re mad about the bridal-carry than the fact I thrusted Steve at your face without any warnings?”

Barnes scoffs. “Steve thrusted himself at my face. Don’t give yourself too much credit –“

“Hey!”

“Besides,” Barnes continues, ignoring Tony. “I know what to expect when I agreed to follow you back. I’m not stupid” He adds grumpily.

Tony may or may not begin to feel like he had overreacted about the entire thing. Maybe it wasn’t as much a fiasco as his brain had led him to believe -

“Sooo, if I give Steve the green light to come up here…,”

Barnes stills before muttering lowly. “He lives here. Why shouldn’t he go where he likes.”

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him but Barnes avoids his gaze. He drops his head back before bouncing forth with a loud exhale, deciding to just, move on. “Okay! Let me get this straight, snowflake. I’m making an offer for you to stay here – I’ll arrange a whole floor for you or if you want to share with Steve, up to you, details, we’ll get there – but the point is, you can stay here from now on, if you want, and well – I mean, free of charge, food is provided and everything basically. So? What do you say?”

Barnes blinks, tipping his head to one side, regarding him with blatant suspicion. Tony doesn’t hold it against him. He’d be doubtful if someone threw a fat wad of cash at him, too.

Which, in retrospect, is probably why the entire team had been skittish around him when they first moved in. Huh.

“What’s in it for you?” Barnes’ question pulls him out of his epiphany.

“Nothing.” Tony shrugs. “I just have too much money I can spare I suppose.”

“What does Steve do?”

“What?”

“To stay here.” Barnes asks, looking at Tony as if he’s stupid. “How does he pay for the rent?” He crosses his arms over his chest, slouching further into the couch, hunching, getting _defensive_.

Tony takes the liberty to perch himself on the coffee table in front of Barnes, legs spread wide with elbows on knees as he looks at him seriously. “He’s a war veteran. And so are you. So you both get free passes in my directory.” He lies, hoping to heaven the man believes him, because Tony’d be damned if he tried to explain himself when he himself can barely understand that shit.

_How far does it extend, Tony?_ He remembers Natasha asking.

_How the fuck do I know. Just eat! _Had been his frantic response two years ago.

Barnes returns his stare flatly. Challenging. “Pretty sure I’m more of a criminal than a veteran, Stark.”

“Well_ thank god _for that cause _this_,” Tony points at himself, snapping in the mere refusal to back down to Barnes – who has no reasons to be this deprecating, because Tony is the founder, cofounder and inhabitant of self-deprecating-ville - and he spits back his glorified title the world had once stitched across his forehead. “- is the _Merchant of Death_ and you’ll be staying in his bed and breakfast.” He stands up, turning away from Barnes when all his nerves begin to thrum with tension. Shame threatens to crawl up his spine. He doesn’t know where that indignation came from.

Thrusting his clenched hands into the pants pockets and he chuckles darkly, “We all got blood on our ledgers, Barnes. Don’t think you’re too special because you have what? Over a hundred on yours?” He turns back to face the man, lips pulling into a gruesome smirk. “Not even a percentage close to mine.”

When Barnes continues to study him silently, he turns away, signalling to FRIDAY to send Steve up to reunite with his boyfriend.

_Finally, _he imagines Steve thinking.

“Now, excuse me while you and your boyfriend catch up. My offer is still up. Take it if you want and I strongly suggest you do because there’s no other places where you’ll be safe than in here.” He adds softly, letting his smirk to thaw into a smile. Crossing his fingers, hoping Barnes didn’t get scared because Tony lost his bearing. “Yeah?” He asks nervously, just to be sure.

Barnes’s attention shifts to the elevator, locking. And he looks less confident than he did, batting off Tony’s concern about him meeting Steve. He looks… scared.

“Do you want me to stay?” Tony asks, before he could. But Barnes doesn’t give him a moment to regret, shrugging stiffly.

“If you don’t mind.” He mumbles meekly. Very unlike the Barnes who had bantered with Tony second naturedly.

Tony gnaws on the inside of his cheek, aching to try to prove his own point to himself, and he says. “I’ll let you know that the fee is two coffees per hour.” As he slides into the loveseat.

Expectedly, Barnes snorts, sagging almost, and although his focused is still fixed on the yet to open elevator doors, he shifts his eyes briefly to Tony and replies, “And I’ll let you know that I make my coffee Irish.”

“Ooh la la.” Tony wiggles his eyebrows jokingly, his own fists unclenching in their pockets, just as the elevator dings and Steve steps out looking white as a sheet; effectively putting the fear back in Barnes’ face.

-

Adrenaline is a devilish scam.

The manic high Tony felt, floating like there’s nothing in the world he cannot accomplish if he didn’t put enough of him to it, faded out like morning mist, as he watched Steve sit awkwardly, running his thumb beneath the hem of his shirt while contemplating what to say to his long lost boyfriend.

Barnes is no better. Sitting with his shoulder hunched and head dropped down like he’s a criminal undergoing interrogation and Tony –

He’s just _so_ tired.

Emotionally drained from trying to keep Barton from contacting the rest of the Avengers. From trying to explain to Barnes that he has a free home to turn to if only he’s willing to accept. From Steve –

From trying to deal with the feel of Steve’s furnace hot body wrapped around his for an entire night and half of this morning. Trying to figure what Steve meant when he said he liked it when Tony calls him Steve, not Cap. Not Capsicle.

What Steve meant when he pulled Tony to cuddle with him on the couch – the soft run of his fingers through Tony’s hair and now.

_Now._ There’s reality staring right back at Tony’s face and feeble, desolate, hopes. James Buchanan Barnes is the man whom Steve Rogers loves and will always love and Tony, has no right to be there between them.

Yet, _there_ he is. Stuck in the middle of two super soldiers because Barnes looked terrified at the prospect of facing Steve and Tony, the dumb fuck he is, offered himself for slaughter. Putting himself smack in the face of awkward, long awaited reunion of two star-crossed lovers like the biggest most fucking third wheel of the century ever.

_Damn._

Unable to sit anymore still than he already had, he clears his throat and puts a smile of his face. “Coffee? Tea? Water?” He can play a good host when he wants to. Especially when he wants to escape.

Steve blinks at him stupidly with big blue eyes that make Tony chokes, while Barnes head snaps up to look at him. _Pleading_. And Tony swallows his tongue. “Okay.” He sinks back into his seat.

_Somebody please talk!_ He wants to scream at them.

But it’s not his place to say, much less, his place to _be_.

So, “Okay.” He says to himself, quieter, scratching underside of his wrist.

“Do- Do you want something to drink, Buck?” Steve’s voice breaks and he tries valiantly to patch it back with a watery smile.

“No.” Barnes mumbles, head tucks back between his shoulders, staring blankly at the floor and Tony wants to slap his face ten times and once more.

“I invited him to stay and he asked me how to pay for the rent.” He speaks up, hearing himself unnaturally loud, piercing through the silence veil that had hung itself around them as he addresses Steve with a too wide smile. “Shall I tell him that I accept sexual favours as well, Cap?” He teases, smirking when Steve turns brick red and admonishes him.

“Tony!” He reprimands. “He doesn’t mean that. It’s not – We’re not. He’s just joking. It’s how -,” Steve stammers, trying to explain the not so complex but complex personality of Tony Stark and Tony saves him from it.

“Jeez, Cap. Barnes knows I mean nothing by it, right snowflake?” He prompts their guest.

Barnes mumbles something under his breath which is too fine for Tony’s ears to catch but not so for Steve who barks a rather loud – and awkward - laugh before clapping a hand over his mouth, making Barnes to peek up, lips twitching at the corner.

“What?” Tony asks, eyes darting left and right, wanting to be included too and it’s Barnes who speaks again. Steve ducks his head, still nursing his ego but silently shaking his head in amusement.

“I said you’re an idiot.” Barnes says with defiance in his voice, daring Tony to call bull.

Tony doesn’t. But he doesn’t shy from pouting with the fervour of a 15 years old teenage girl. Big brown eyes wider than ever and he works what he got to make himself look ‘kawaii’, or whatever the shit Happy is obsessed with from his trip to Japan last month.

“Please don’t.” Barnes begs with excellent feigned sincerity.

Steve looks between Tony and Bucky and back to Tony and he bursts out laughing.

-

Barnes agrees to share a floor with Steve.

Tony doesn’t know in details, what transpired. But when he comes back with a tray of three mugs; two coffee and one tea because Steve is secretly a heathen, he finds Barnes and Steve sniggering to a shared joke, heads ducking shyly between the two of them and when they look up at Tony’s intrusion, there’s mirth swirling behind their pretty pair of eyes and Tony breathes out a sigh of relief quelling the bud of envy that blooms along in there.

Barnes has nothing except for what he has on him. “Packing light there, I see,” Tony teases him as they bring him to his room.

Partly because Barnes had looked miserable when Tony tried to excuse himself for the umpteenth time and partly because he doesn’t know if the spare room in Steve’s floor has been dusted or not. And neither does Steve by the nervous way he gnaws on his bottom lip the closer they move to their destination.

It’s no one’s to blame, truly. Because Steve barely spends his time in his own floor what with his fractured sleep, he either ends up in the gym, communal floor or 80% of the time, in Tony’s workshop.

Also, Pepper’s no longer in control of Tony’s personal life and Tony has no idea what or how his place is being cleaned half of the time.

Until Steve clears his throat and apologizes, “Sorry for the dusts. The Roombas take care of the floor but anything higher, I haven’t had the time to clean it.” And Tony suddenly remembers with a clarity that brings him back to 2012 in spring; reactor in chest and a red head in his arms.

_“Manhattan barely houses spiders, Pep.”_

_“Better safe than sorry, Tony.”_

“Actually, our ventilation filters dusts and particles, and we have anti pest installed everywhere so there shouldn’t be dusts at all.”

He remembers now.

He remembers all.

He feels Steve subtly closes-in next to him and he exhales through clenched teeth. Shaking it off with a grin. “Pepper was a big clean freak.” He focuses on Barnes who pays no attention to him at all, already taking his first step into the room, eyes scanning wildly for exit points, if Tony has to assume.

Tony hears rather than sees Steve sigh. A soft squeeze to his right arm, and he’s left alone outside as Steve walks resolutely to the window, throwing out the curtains and letting sunlight spill liberally inside.

It’s by accident that Tony catches Barnes wince, almost hunching inwards, like he wants to disappear. And by the amount of scuffing he subjects the floorboards too, he looks like he has no plans to go inside and settle anytime soon. So Tony shakes off his own misery and tugs the ex-assassin by his elbow, taking him by surprise which he recovers from quickly before he stabs Tony in the face, to his immense credit.

“Sorry.” Tony nudges him belatedly. Barnes responds by yanking his arm from Tony’s hold roughly with a murderous look that makes Tony puts on his pouty face again. He figures it’s fun, when Barnes huffs and rolls his eyes at his attempt. Doesn’t know why he started it, exactly, but maybe he’ll keep it on as long as he helps the guest be at ease.

They leave him alone after Steve briefed about meal times and locations and their haphazard sleep schedules to which Tony interrupted loudly; “Basically you do what you want as long as no one gets hurt and if you want to go out, please take the key card with you because the security is tight and they won’t let you without identification.”

“Got nowhere to go.” Barnes scoffed at the floor.

To which Tony shrugged. “Good then, I don’t have to hurry getting yours ready so when you want, do let me or FRIDAY know.”

“The Artificial…”

“Intelligence, yes.” Tony nodded.

“She’s very nice.” Steve added, ever eager to be helpful. It earned him a stiff smile from Barnes before silence rained upon them and Tony had to physically pull Steve out the door so Barnes could get the time alone he looked desperate to having.

-

He gets lost in his project after that.

He starts on a schematic for a metal arm prosthesis, convincing himself that it’s just for the fun of it and he sets FRIDAY to work on Barnes’ key card.

Out of curiosity, he asks about his new guest roughly about seven times in six hours. All to which FRIDAY assures him that Seargent Barnes is warming up to her rather quickly and they’ve moved on to nicknames.

“Is that so?” Tony asks, amused, scrubbing at the stubborn grease in the web between his forefinger and thumb.

“Yes!” She chirps excitedly and Tony’s heart swells for her. “He addresses me as Miss FRI.”

Tony chuckles for her delight. “And what do _you_ call him, darling.”

“We agreed on Searge.” She declares proudly and Tony congratulates before asking her to crank up the volume to Highway to Hell.

Steve peeks in by dinner time to call him up. Tony doesn’t even try to wave him off because Steve looks so haggard, he doubts he’ll hold a fight if Tony said no. Besides, what’s the fun in saying no if there’s no Steve to argue with him so he tucks his non-existent tail between his legs and follows him to the communal floor.

Apparently, Barnes refused dinner.

Tony contemplates going for him, then decides it’s better if he doesn’t.

Barnes is a big boy. He knows what’s what and what’s where. They’ve given him a tour around the communal area and about everywhere else they could think of, except Tony’s penthouse and the other Avengers’ suits. According to FRIDAY, Barnes is adjusting well.

So if he decides to not to join them for dinner, then it’s because –

“He’s not ready yet.” Steve pokes at the mushrooms on his plate. He’s morose but he sounds determined to understand the way his new Bucky functions.

Tony swallows his own bite of meat and nods agreeably. “There’s no need to hurry.” He cuts another slice of his steak.

Steve looks up from his plate with a smile on his face. “Right. Besides, what’s important is, he’s here. And safe.”

_That’s good enough for now,_ goes unsaid.

Tony scoops his mushrooms and puts them on Steve’s plate. He receives a familiar exasperated look but he’s visibly relieved when Steve leaves the topic and finally begins eating his dinner.

-

Steve doesn’t come to the workshop that night.

Tony waits for two hours, telling himself that he’s not waiting until he gets so pissed and frustrated that he drops everything and goes upstairs.

Steve isn’t in the communal floor either. Not that Tony expected him to be, but it’s still disappointing. He refuses to check the gym, planting himself firmly in front of the refrigerator with its door open and cool air brushing against his skin.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there like that; thoughts a whirlwind of mess – thinking what could Steve be up to? If Steve and Barnes are sharing a room? A bed together? Are they sleeping? Have they gone past the awkwardness and slotted together like two matching puzzle pieces they have always been?

Are they having sex?

He snaps back to reality and slams the door shut. Its silent thud a mockery to the rightless jealously he feels creeping up his neck.

Who is Tony after all, between two star crossed lovers. Who is he to feel jealous about them? What right does he have to feel jealous about them.

None, is the answer.

None.

-

He doesn’t bother stopping by the kitchen on the way to his penthouse.

He takes the elevator straight up; his heart still heavy from the inevitable abandonment he feels from the night prior. He’s not sour, he keeps telling himself.

But who is he trying to fool with that statement, when it’s the truth after all.

He skips breakfast. Ignores Steve’s message relayed through FRIDAY;_ “Tony, are you awake?” _

Tells her to lie for him when she informs him that Steve is waiting outside his bedroom door.

He’s trying to sever the tie, dammit. Can’t Steve get that, at least?

He doesn’t sleep. Instead, he shops for Barnes.

From clothes to miscellaneous things he gathers Barnes may come to enjoy; like the lava lamp in the shape of penis and a huge plushie moulded after Kim Kardashian’s butt.

He has fun with it at least. Enough so, that when FRIDAY tells him that Steve’s asking for him again, he sighs and goes downstairs in time for dinner.

If Steve looked bad yesterday, he looks worse standing in front of the stove. Butter sizzling away loudly and the air is a second away from smelling burnt.

He jumps when Tony hip-shoves him aside and takes over the pan. He adds garlic and onion, but doesn’t miss the red around those baby blues.

Or the way Steve wears his shirt inside out.

He puts the meat in, lowers the heat and closes the pan with a lid. “Did something happen?” He asks, with his back to the counter and arms crossed over his chest.

Steve crowds him in to his sheer shock, sagging with his forehead dropping onto Tony’s shoulder and he looks one breath away from breaking down.

Tony loops his arms around Steve’s waist and gives a hug. “What’s wrong?” He asks into the crown of Steve’s head, blonde strands tickling his lips as he smooths them down evenly.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He hears back.

He hums cryptically, shifting Steve so he can worm an arm out and turn off the stove. “You don’t look like it.” He comments gently. The way he doesn’t know he can do until he held Steve in his arms the other night and he was surprised by himself. 

“It’s me.” Steve mumbles. “It’s stupid really. Because nothing is wrong.” He sighs, pulling away and Tony almost doesn’t let him go. Even if Steve only wants to lean beside him. Hips still brushing, shoulders touching.

But it’s not a hug still.

“I just cannot stop worrying.” Both hands fist around his hair. “He’s right next door.” He hushes, like he cannot believe it himself – his red rimmed eyes wide and his lips tremble. “And I haven’t seen him once since he closed that door after us.”

For what it’s worth, Tony tells him what FRIDAY reported to him.

But it only makes Steve feel worse. Unshed tears brimming as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t know what to do, Tony. I _don’t_ know what to do.”

Tony takes a hold of his hand, sick of watching it yanking at blonde strands that are now looking quite the contrast to their usual prim style – poking up at all ends. Adorable, if he can ignore the distraught way Steve’s hunched in.

They stand in silence for sometimes until Tony decides enough is enough and asks FRIDAY what’s Barnes’ doing at the moment.

“Searge is … guarding, boss.” His baby girl answers, doubting her own choice of word.

Steve and Tony share a look. “What do you mean by guarding, FRI?”

“He’s perched on his window sill, looking for any potential threat to the tower.” She supplies mildly.

Tony takes a deep breath in and exhales lengthily. When he speaks, he sounds sullen even to his own ears. “How long has he been doing that?” He holds his breath.

“For 36 hours, boss.”

_Dammit._

Tony bites back an angry retort his mind supplies for FRIDAY. She’s just a baby, he reminds himself. She’s still growing, with so much more to learn and truly, it’s his fault to rely on her to take care of Barnes’ wellbeing.

It’s like asking a ten years old take care of a five years old.

_She’s not JARVIS_; he shoves that thought away.

“Okay.” Tony rubs at his forehead. “Okay.”

Steve groans next to him.

“Well, on the bright side. You’re not worried for no reasons at all.” He tries to placate him. Like an idiot.

“Tony -,”

“No, no. Let me. Let _me_ go check on him, okay?” Tony cuts him off.

Steve doesn’t look happy but he agrees with a sigh.


	6. It's Fine. We're Fine. Everything's Fine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is so close to him that his lips are brushing over his forehead. And his breath is hot, fanning Tony’s hair; almost like he’s breathing Tony in. Which doesn’t make sense.
> 
> Neither does the way he rubs his hand up and down along Tony’s side. Like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.
> 
> Or the way he keeps smiling.
> 
> And how does Tony knows that he’s smiling when he can’t even see him? Oh, that’s right. Because he can fucking feel it.
> 
> On his skin.

Tony paces in front of the locked room.

Or maybe it isn’t locked. He doesn’t know because he didn’t even try to turn the knob, much less, actually knock on the door.

Instead, he paces with his fists clenched by his sides, thinking about all the different ways he can get Barnes’ attention and convince him to join them for dinner.

In the end, the door opens with a smack, revealing a grumpy Barnes. “You’re too loud,” He grunts. Leaving the door open as he goes back to his perch on the window sill just like FRIDAY has reported earlier.

Tony swallows his momentary shock and enters the room. Something tells him that he isn’t the only one who has paced outside Barnes’ room. But he _is_ the only one who’s been granted access into.

“How did you know I wasn’t Steve?” He asks, hoisting himself up onto the sill but sliding down like an old potato sack while Barnes follows his graceless feat with a flat look.

“You’re lighter.” Barnes frowns, watching Tony abort the attempt to sit beside him and hiking his hip up against the sill instead. He shakes his head and turns back to the Manhattan beneath him – eyes sharp like hawk as he watches everything from above.

Tony follows his example and fixes his attention on a florist with a make-a-do flower stall set on the pavement. “So you’re planning to starve while you’re here or something?” He asks lightly, sagging with relief when Barnes snorts at him.

_Good,_ he thinks. _Good. At least you’re not suicidal or_ _something. Passive and otherwise._

“I ate.” Barnes answers shortly.

Tony peels his eyes away from the florist to gasp at him. “You lie!” He points an index dramatically at Barnes – who quirks an unimpressed eyebrow up and rolls his eyes, disregarding him.

“Fine. When?” Tony asks with hands on his hips; like a mother reprimanding her child.

“Before I came here.” Barnes shrugs like it’s nothing big.

“Atrocious!” Tony raises his voice.

“You’re too loud.” Barnes flicks at his forehead.

Tony pouts but Barnes stays unmoved – rock still as he ignores Tony huffing and puffing like a petulant child next to him.

Eventually, Tony gives up. “Urgh. You’re tough.” He groans, boldly poking beneath Barnes’ arm. Still unmovable.

“Come and eat.” He pokes again. “We’re having dinner at the communal floor. Stir fry and rice, it’s nice.” He pokes repeatedly.

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna lose a finger.” Barnes mutters a threat.

Tony stops.

“Come on, snowflake! Steve’s a good cook.”

“Steve can’t cook for his life.” Barnes deadpans.

Tony’s taken aback. “Wha- No. He can. He cooks alright.” He insists.

But Barnes is firm in his stand. “No he can’t.”

“Fine. Come and find out for yourself then.”

And it’s probably the most flimsy excuse to convince Barnes to join them. But it works like magic when Barnes follows him grumpily. Tony leading with a smug smirk on his face, much to Steve’s relief.

-

“So?” Tony munches smugly, savouring the bursts of garlic from the stir fried chicken. “Give me your verdict, taste freeze.”

Barnes continues to frown at the plate before him, like it had sprouted a hand and slapped him across his face. As far as Tony’s concerned, the only thing that slapped Barnes is the tasty stir fry made by Steve while they were willy-waddling in Barnes’ room.

“Good, eh?” He scoops a spoonful of rice into his mouth and leans back in his chair, gloating in his victory.

Barnes mumbles something that Tony couldn’t catch, but Steve does because damn super soldier and damn super hearing – and he stops mid bite, the small smile that had taken its place since Barnes’ arrival drops.

“You know, not all of us have super hearing and me, I’m like half a century old with progressively deteriorating hearing so sometimes when kind people speak up, it really makes me feel better.” He looks meaningfully in Barnes direction.

Nothing. But he gets shot with a withering look which he responds with a quelling one of his own until Steve interrupts by clearing his throat.

“How do you know that I can’t cook?” He asks Barnes.

And for some reasons, Barnes looks at Tony and shrugs, – Tony who at this point, gets the gist that Barnes had probably repeated what he said to Tony about Steve not being able to cook.

Steve waits until Tony turns to him in question and says, “Picked it up in this century. Got plenty of time in my hand after I woke up and -,” He shrugs wordlessly, the small smile returning along the curl of his mouth. Looking softer than it did earlier.

“Huh.” Tony looks at his half finished meal. “Guess it’s my gain.” He picks back up from where he’d left.

They eat in mostly silence afterwards. Steve scooping up liberal second helping onto Barnes’ plate and some onto Tony’s because even if Tony wants a second round, his stomach doesn’t stretch to _that_ extent, so there’s still some left on his plate which he looks longingly at while rubbing at his overloaded tummy.

Steve grins fondly at him, reprising his trach-can of the team role – lately, it has been more specific to Tony – and swiping clean two plates as Barnes gets done with his too and Tony grumbles his way to load the dishes into the dishwasher because it’s his turn today.

The silence that follows his departure from the table is more strained and awkward and Tony deliberately slows down with his task.

He wants them talk.

Snap that damned stretched out string between them even though it has to be in his presence. Because Barnes may not have been explicit about it, but every one of his body language says that he’s still not ready to face Steve _alone_, sans Tony to linger like a pathetic wallpaper around their romance-ville.

So why can’t they talk now? At least look at each other in the eyes. God damn. It’s like watching the longest pining love story in the world. So fucking frustrating.

With a sudden clarity, Tony excuses himself because maybe it’s quite the contrary where he’s the reason why they’re still tip toe-ing around. Maybe he’s the cockblocker and he’d just gotten the wrong idea about Barnes after all.

So he says his goodnight and decides to go back to his floor instead of the workshop. He’s feeling exhausted to the bones.

-

He’s tapping away on the tablet, one whole hour spent on simply browsing for movies to watch and yet, he cannot decide on one. At this point, he’s just letting his fingers swipe up, up and above – absentmindedly.

He’s so far gone in the void that the knock on his door startles the life out of him. “Jesus Christ!” He clutches at his chest, wide eyes staring at the door to his bedroom.

He thinks about getting the door but the idea of leaving the comfy cocoon he’d made for himself with the cover and throw pillows makes him consider the alternative and call, “Come in!” Because it must be Steve. There’s nobody else who’ll come to find him here at this hour except for Steve and –

“Hey.”

It’s Steve.

“Sup?” Tony flattens himself against the headboard.

Steve fidgets by the door, reminiscent of two nights ago when he asked if he can stay with Tony in the bed. And Tony’s foolish heart stutters faintly in anticipation for a repeat of that. Body aching to feel that furnace level heat once more, wrapped around him and really. Tony should really stop thinking this way.

“You okay?” He prods with a smile. Hoping it makes Steve feel more comfortable to tell him whatever he came to say.

Then he sees the way Steve’s eyes dart to the tablet propped on his lap and before he could filter his own thoughts he offers, “Wanna watch a movie?”

Steve breaks into a smile – tentative, like he’s not sure, but he stops fidgeting and his eyes twinkle when he asks, “If that’s alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. Come on in.” Tony pats his side. Because he’s gone. Gone, _gone_ and stupid. So he lets his heart stutter some more and makes a space big enough for Steve to join him in his comfy cocoon.

And God, isn’t Barnes so right. Tony _is _an idiot.

“What’re we watching?”

Tony breathes in, “I” And exhales loudly. “Have no idea. Pick one for me?”

Steve chooses Lady and the Tramp because, “I haven’t seen this one yet” and Tony sits, stiff as a board, with Steve on his right, eyes hyper-focused on the cartoon but mind butchering him about his stupid crush.

Ten minutes into the movie, Steve’s leaning into him; head almost tipping so it’s on Tony’s shoulder.

Twenty minutes and his head_ is_ on Tony’s shoulder.

Twenty five minutes and Steve decides to snuggle up to Tony. Pressed along his length, nose breathing hot air into the crook of Tony’s neck and Tony runs his palms over and over the bed sheet because they’re getting incessantly clammy and the comfy cocoon is no longer comfy but a fucking baking oven.

He picks up his phone and types out a request to FRIDAY; because he knows if he voices it out, he’s probably going to lose the proximity between Steve and him, so he sits back and sighs in relief when the temperature in the room dips a few degree lower, accommodating his need.

But of course Steve senses the shift. And before Tony could grab onto him, he’s moving away, blinking guiltily. “Sorry. I forget I run too hot sometimes.”

Tony stops himself from pouting; something that surprisingly requires some effort because Barnes is to blame. He got used to putting on the damsel act for Barnes’ amusement and now that shit is extending to Steve which is stupid because damsel is the last thing Tony Stark is.

“It’s actually chilly now that you’ve -,” He gestures at the space between them. Frowning at the tiny hurt that managed to slip into his voice.

“Oh.” Steve exclaims before a shy smirk quirks up his lips and he’s wiggling his eyebrows at Tony. “You want to cuddle, Mr Stark?”

“_You_ were cuddling up to me!” Tony squawks indignantly.

Steve chuckles, “I was.” He admits shamelessly. “But my back is kind of aching trying to shrink down to your size so how about you, c’mere - ” he easily drags Tony’s whole weight half atop him, big arms curling around and tucking Tony in as if he’s right where he belongs and Tony’s poor heart shudders violently in its cage before melting into a puddle of mush.

Tony blinks like a deer caught in headlights before pushing aside that sappy mush and thinking this in a practical manner.

Well as practical as he can get with Steve literally hugging him to chest and humming in content.

It’s fine. They’ve done this before. They’re friends. Tony had cuddled up with Rhodey a gazillion times in college – sometimes now. So it shouldn’t be a big deal – except, it feels like it _is_ because of his stupid crush which if he can just forget about for a while –

Then this will be fine.

They’ll be fine.

Tony can just elbow Steve a little and put on that grumpy act he put on the other morning so he seems anything but like he actually wants to do this and everything will be absolutely _fine_.

-

It i_sn’t_ fine.

Steve is so close to him that his lips are brushing over his forehead. And his breath is hot, fanning Tony’s hair; almost like he’s breathing Tony in. Which doesn’t make sense.

Neither does the way he rubs his hand up and down along Tony’s side. Like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Or the way he keeps smiling.

And how does Tony knows that he’s smiling when he can’t even see him? Oh, that’s right. Because he can fucking feel it.

On his skin.

Which isn’t fine. Not fine at all, because Tony’s palms are now getting clammy for an entirely different reason and he can’t wipe them anywhere because then he’ll be shifting and he doesn’t want to think of what will happen if he shifts – either he get’s pulled in closer or _worse_, Steve lets go of him.

So he’s frozen there. Feeling hot all over and watching two dogs falling in love while wondering pathetically if Steve could be the Tramp to his <strike>Lady </strike>Gent.

Over the board, not fine!

“You alright?” Steve murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest and Tony can feel it. That’s how criminally close they are attached together now.

“’M fine.” He squeaks. Then winces and curses himself because he fucking squeaked!

“You’re rigid as a board, Tony.” Steve chuckles, pressing his stupid lips over Tony’s forehead. Which deceptively feels like a kiss.

This isn’t normal.

This isn’t what friends do. Tony has never cuddled with Rhodey like_ this_. With Pepper, yes. Which makes this all the more not fine.

Then softly, almost like he doesn’t want to but still saying it for the sake of it, Steve asks, “I can pull away if you want?”

Tony thinks about it. For barely a second and a half because he cannot even process the thought of spending the rest of the movie in awkward distance between them which apparently – despite all the abnormality of the proximity is considered – Tony doesn’t want. So he says; “No. This is fine.”

And with what feels like a relief, Steve sags beneath him with a deep sigh. The stretched mouth pressed against his skin stretching ever wider, making Tony follow its suit and smile as well.

“Good.” Steve murmurs. This time, giving no bullshit chicken press of lips against skin but an actual kiss to Tony’s temple and pulling him impossibly closer to him.

And Tony _breathes_. Deciding to throw everything to the wind and just enjoy this as it is. For just a moment. Even if this is all that he can get from Steve, then so be it. Crush or no crush, he’s done arguing with himself and questioning about everything. For one night. He’ll let himself bask in this ‘thing’ Steve dubs as cuddling and have it for himself. Just for now, he’ll let himself have this.

Even if by doing so, it will hurt him more when Steve and Barnes get back together one day.

-

Tony has no memory of watching the ending.

The last thing he remembers is the comforting infernal heat of Steve surrounding him and some wild dog chase and the next minute, it’s incredibly hard to breathe.

He gasps, lifting his head up from where he’d mushed his face first into the pillow. But that’s all he could get. There’s all where he can go because the rest of him is pinned down by a fuck ton of weight.

“Oh god.” He gasps. Throat itchy and chest aching as he tries to reach around and bat at the super soldier on top of him. “S-Steve.”

Steve grunts, catching Tony’s flailing hand mid-air and bringing it to his chest where he hugs it to his chest. Tony tries not to get too affected by that gesture because woah - He really cannot breathe.

“Steve. Buddy. Move. Can’t. Breathe.”

One eye blinks open and Steve regards him with a sleepy scowl which upturns into a smile and before Tony can whack him in the head and demand him to fucking move, he’s turning over – bringing Tony with him – so he’s now on his back with a stupefied Tony hugged to his front. Tight.

Oh.

And because it’s ass-crack at dawn and Tony is back to feeling sleepy now that he can breathe again, he dozes off with his cheek plastered on Steve’s chest and Steve’s hand cradling his head.

Perhaps he’ll mind about it when he properly wakes up later.

-

Or not.

Because there’s no Steve by his side when he opens his eyes and he’s all alone wondering if everything that happened last night was a big fat dream meant to trick him.

Because that’s how he feels now. Tricked – lonely and vulnerable on his king-sized mattress, tucked perfectly back into his comfy cocoon and the temperature feeling optimal behind his neck.

A big fat dream.

Funny how he’s usually on the other side of this dream.

-

“You didn’t come up for breakfast.” Steve startles him in the midst of rearranging his drafts so the schematic will finally make some sense.

It doesn’t.

“I’m still full from last night.” He swipes angrily at the holo-display again. Feeling desperate and ultimately, irritated.

“You never miss breakfast.” Steve mutters with a frown, Tony imagines, because Tony refuses to look at him.

“I always miss breakfast, Rogers.” He clucks his tongue. Scrunching another final result up and tossing the holo ball of paper into the awaiting holo trashcan.

Something heavy lands with a thud next to him. A plate of scrambled eggs, sausages and bacon.

He looks up at Steve.

Steve looks stern, face screwed up like he’s tasted lemon and when he does speak, it’s like he’s trying hard to not slip out of his control. “Not after I ran away from the Compound. So you eat that. And don’t ever call me Rogers again.” He grits out.

Tony blinks but before he can say a word, he is alone once again.

He tries to glare at the breakfast into submission, make it disappear, but he can’t. Not when Steve’s upset face keeps being replayed in his head, so he picks up the fork and stabs a stripe of bacon into his mouth. Chewing forlornly.

He learnt from FRIDAY that last night was not a dream at all. That last night happened. _Actually_ happened.

And he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Instincts scream at him to protect himself. He’s sick and tired of getting hurt.

He doesn’t want to nurse another heartbreak. Pepper was tough enough to get over and that was _without_ the ten times more intensity he feels whenever he’s in the vicinity of Steve.

He knows it will be the end of him. When Steve finally gets back his Bucky and all his attention - that he’s pouring onto Tony now only because Barnes is still reluctant about it – goes to Barnes. Where it truly belongs. It will _end _him.

Because Tony is the temporary trash can. Where all of Steve’s worked up focus ends going to because Barnes rejecting him. And Tony doesn’t want to be encourage that. Because Barnes is not going to reject him for long.

He thinks that maybe if he turns down Steve, puts his walls up again, then maybe Steve will go and try harder with Barnes and now that Barnes is physically here, maybe he cannot reject Steve’s big blue puppy eyes and maybe, maybe they’ll get back together. Faster.

And Tony can go to one of his private islands and lick at his wound in peace. Faster.

Like pulling at a band-aid. The faster, the lesser it hurts.

Which may not be the truth in his case, since he’s sure it’s going to hurt like a bitch when it comes to that. He’d already made himself an inevitable victim the moment he started harbouring feeling for Steve.

Regardless, at this point, he just wants to get the mess done and over with quicker.

So he tried to avoid Steve. Put back the distance between them that they erased in the last three months by calling him Rogers. Thinking at least, going back to how they were during Ultron would help.

But Steve had looked like a kicked puppy and that hurts like a bitch too.

And now. Tony _really _doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It feels like no matter however he tries to avoid it, the answer – when it comes between saving or sacrificing himself – seems always to be the latter. As it is with everything else.

-

“Thank you for the breakfast.” He says pointedly while placing the plate into the sink.

Steve’s sat on the end of the dining table, head bent down over his tablet and the only sign that he noticed Tony entered the communal floor was the way his shoulder had tensed and is yet to relax in his continued presence.

Feeling exhausted at himself and everything else, Tony heaves a sigh and leans against the counter, addressing the man. “I’m sorry.” He says. “I was being an ass and you don’t deserve that from me.” _Especially now_.

When Steve still doesn’t look up from his device, Tony yanks at his hair and carefully bites back a threatening groan from spilling forth from his chest. “Steve.” He calls roughly.

“I thought we were back to Rogers and Stark?” Steve snipes back without looking at him.

Tony scrubs at his face. “Please don’t do this.” He begs. Tired beyond anything from arguing with himself all day all night, all the damned time.

“No. _You_ don’t do this, Tony.” Steve snarls. The tablet sliding a few inches across the table with the force which Steve abandons it to finally glower at Tony. “You don’t do this to me because Bucky is already tormenting me with his ‘let’s ignore Steve act’ and now you want to – I don’t even know what I did wrong to hurt you. And if I ever did, why neither of you just tell me so I don’t do that and apologize and I get it that Bucky is – Bucky just – But you! I thought you and I were getting better, Tony. And now you call me Rogers and make me feel like I’m a stranger to you all over again – Why?” He croaks, lips trembling and blue eyes glimmering with hurtful tears. “Why?” He asks again, so softly like he’s on the brink of giving up and Tony, who’s no stranger to hopelessness himself chokes up.

But nothing comes out of him. Try as he may, he’s stood frozen there in the kitchen with ten feet distance to where he wants to be and a voice box that fails him at the most crucial moment. “I’m so sorry.” He mouths shakily. Fingers trembling at his sides because why?

Why indeed.

A few minutes pass before Tony’s able to shake himself and scrub at his face wearily. His fingers are still trembling and his neurons are shooting a mile per second – haphazardly – and he moves, one big step in front of another until he’s right where he wants to be; by Steve’s side.

And he takes the man into his arms; shoulders shaking silently as Steve breaks down and Tony runs equally shaky fingers through his mess of a blonde hair. Over and over, hoping it helps.

And he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Again and again, hoping he can forgive himself the way Steve sniffles and says, “It’s okay,” hugging him as tightly back until Tony’s hunched over the mass of him, curled over his broad shoulders, pressing his face into the expanse Steve’s muscular back.

When they’re both sufficiently calmed down, Tony uncurls himself and brushes a wayward strand away from Steve’s forehead. “I won’t do that again.” He promises. “I didn’t know that Barnes is avoiding you -,” _Still. I thought you both made up last night._

Steve shakes his head, “No. I should have told you last night.” He sniffles again before pressing his nose into Tony’s stomach. “It was why I came by but…,” He trails off, voice muffled.

“You got distracted?” Tony asks cheekily, petting his head.

Steve snorts but doesn’t disagree. “Yeah,” He says. “Felt a lot better when I woke up this morning.” He mumbles, sounding almost unintelligible if not for Tony already straining to catch every one of his words – feeling his gut sink the instant he hears them.

Either Steve is brutally honest by nature or is trolling with Tony.

But given the circumstances, Tony doubts Steve is in a mood for trolling. Which only means –

“Careful there or you’re gonna make your boyfriend jealous, Cap.” He squeezes the back of Steve’s neck. The tremble in his fingers long gone replaced by their usual calloused steadiness.

Steve looks up at him then. And for the life of him, Tony never anticipated what came out of his mouth after.

“Pretty sure Bucky can share.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> urgh, i abused the spacing /sighs/ i know i knoow. it'll be a longer chapter next week tho. meantime, thank you for all the kudos and comments!  
p:s// i like breaking steve  
p:p:s// i like breaking tony even more


	7. Slowly but Surely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe because it’s Barnes and that’s his thing.  
Making people fall for him.

Tony’s off the state. Halfway from the continent, trying to turn down Guinness stout without offending a surprisingly persistent SI’s German ally.

His mind is scattered, thinking about boarding the jet, sinking into his comfortable New York bed and facing Steve after the remark he made about Barnes and sharing.

They left it at Tony jokingly flicking at his ear and Steve rubbing his eyes raw when FRIDAY had brought up an emergency call from Pepper who demanded he board the flight to Frankfurt right that instant if he wanted to stop SI from collapsing.

Now, after a tedious – what felt like a never ending – meeting with a bunch of European buffoons he swears to never cross paths with again, come life or death, he finally got his green light from Pepper to go back home. After four days.

“I’ll take care of things from here on. You go back to helping Steve with Sargent Barnes.” She chugs down her fifth cup of coffee with an exasperated grunt. Except it sounds elegant because it’s Pepper, of course.

“Sorry, Pep.” Tony apologizes half-heartedly. He sympathizes, but that doesn’t mean he’ll willingly trade his position with her.

“Never mind. This is what I’m being paid for. Sides, I know you can’t wait to go back to your Steve.” She smirks at him something mischievous.

Tony barely holds himself from colouring pink, neck to cheek. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He mumbles behind his own cup of half-finished coffee, avoiding her twinkling eyes.

“No, no. Of course you don’t.” She pats his cheek. “You’re incredibly thick when you want to be so there’s that.”

“Excuse you?” Tony redoubles to protest, but Pepper’s way ahead of him just as she’s always been – turning into a diverging hallway with a wave over her shoulder and a sing song, “Bye, bye, Tony,” as she marches away to conquer the world.

He watches her leave for a moment before hurrying down his designated path where his jet awaits and if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll catch some nap so he can be fresh and awake to work on all the unfinished projects in his workshop upon his arrival.

“ETA, FRI?” He murmurs, sinking into the luxurious leather.

“Approximately eight hours, boss.”

“Oh wow.” He wipes his face with the hot towel. Maybe a nap and some work then, he decides, handing the towel back to the stewardess with a soft ‘thanks’.

-

Turns out, Steve’s asleep in his suite. Not his fault because Tony arrived at an unholy hour; two in the morning, so he parks his car – much to Happy’s protests - in the garage and hums numbly as FRIDAY titters about what happened around the tower while he was gone.

Barnes is still on guard it seems. And apart from the dinner and lunch he joined in Tony’s presence, he’d been keeping to himself for the last three days, missing his meals and according to FRIDAY, an estimated hundred and four hour of sleep.

“Shit.” Tony curses, dropping the key card into the top drawer of his worktable. “Is that even healthy?”

“With Searge’s super soldier serum, he can go without sleep for an entire week. But no. According to my data, it is not healthy. I have talked to him about this, however he’s very adamant about staying awake, boss. Based on my observations, I find that nightmares may be the predominant cause of Searge’s disturbed sleep.” She informs with a worried undertone; like she does when she tattles to Steve about Tony going on a work-binge sometimes (oh, tony overhears alright).

Tony adores her fervently. “Thank you, darling. If I may know where your dearest Searge is, I think I’d like to talk to him.” He uncuffs his dress shirt and scrunches up the pristine sleeves. He untucks it from the pants, breathing in relief as he does so, listening to FRIDAY providing him the whereabout of their resident Red October.

It’s drizzling slightly when Tony lets himself out to the rooftop, and _freezing_. From where he stands, he spots Barnes seated at the edge of the helipad, almost tipping forth down the edge of the tower – sending Tony into panicky mode until he sees it. The longitudinal bar wedged between Barnes’ metal arm and torso, holding him back, keeping him from plummeting down and becoming a pancake-Barnes.

Tony laughs half-heartedly at his own terrible joke. Finding solace in humour as he rubs his left arm that had started to throb.

Barnes looks… serene.

Almost like he’s drifting with the gentle wind whooshing between the smatter of drizzles. His eyes closed – Tony notes as he steps closer – and he looks relaxed but Tony knows to not be fooled.

Barnes is just another spy. Just like Natasha and Clint. They can deceive you with their looks. They make you believe they’re harmless and they’ll turn around and stab you in the back.

Or they may look relaxed, when actually they’re very alert and in Barnes’ case, tortured – like a banana stuck inside a blender.

So he doesn’t announce his presence, because he knows Barnes’ watching even without looking. And he sits himself a foot away next to him, letting the cold drizzle patter down his face as he imitates Barnes’ posture; eyes closed with his face turned upwards.

He lets himself drift as well, almost forgetting the purpose of him crashing Barnes’ lone-party when his companion mutters, loud enough for Tony to hear him.

“Are you begging to be pushed off this ugly tower?”

Tony thinks about it for a moment. Because honestly, he didn’t even consider.

He didn’t even think that he’s putting himself in Barnes’ mercy to second he chose his seat – not even for a second - and closes his eyes; basically making himself the most vulnerable, easy prey for the Winter Soldier.

But now that he thinks of it, he shrugs, “Still not dead so I’m hoping you drop the ‘let’s kill Tony’ plan and tell me why you’re not sleeping instead.”

Barnes opens his eyes a fraction to glare at him and in that instance, Tony fears the murderous intent in them may be very real. But then, he sighs, and he closes his eyes again like nothing happened so Tony swallows and decides to gauge how far he can go with driving Barnes mad.

“Is it the mattress? Not comfy enough? Or the sheet? You want satin? Cotton? Name whichever, FRI will pick them up for you. Or is it the pillows?” He ticks off each possible cause, knowing fully about the actual reason but evading, because unlike the mass opinion, Tony does fear for his life. Sometimes.

“If you need cuddles, you should know by now that Steve is always willing.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Barnes growls. Eyes still shut but a frown has taken place between them now.

Tony chuckles humourlessly. Letting his legs swing freely as he takes in the view beneath them.

Manhattan. Still alive and thriving; motorbikes vrooming and cars humming, some screeching – with splatter of lights, all over its pretty face. Tony takes a deep breath, grimacing at the nauseous feeling weighing down his gut.

It’s different when he’s flying – encased in his armour; safe and sound as long as he doesn’t go diving head first into any obstacles, or worse, the suit malfunction.

Flying is different – always in motion, but this right here, he’s stagnant. Hanging from one place, in one position, looking down from a height that sends his head spinning the more he stares. 

He looks up again before he hurls out the fine bruschetta he had on the plane. “I don’t like stillness.” He tells the air that brushes past his damp hair. Hoping it got carried away and unheard ever again because that was an accidental blabber.

Wishes, swishes, because Barnes hears him and speaks of his own after. “Hate the constant motion.”

Tony barks out a surprised laughter. “Quite the opposite, the two of us.” He hums amusedly. Hugging himself desperately in futile attempt to help against the cold.

-

They go inside after a while. When Tony started shivering and Barnes shot him a disgusted look which Tony countered with, “Sure. Laugh away at how human I am, why don’t you.”

“You’re fragile even for a human.” Barnes comments, rounding the kitchen island and heading towards the cabinets.

Tony sniffles, sneezes and the sniffles again with a groan, plopping heavily onto the chair. His wet dress shirt and pants now exchanged for a dry tee and a pair of well-worn jeans. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m stronger than most human.”

Barnes snorts, but carries on with his mysterious scavenging as Tony pats at his pocket for his phone.

The two hundred emails are still a glaring notification which he ignores petulantly, going for the Avengers’ chat group and scrolling down a plethora of both amusing and concerning texts shared between the members. Both Steve and Tony have been the only dormant ones in there; even Clint finding time between his tiny agent family to snipe back and forth with Natasha and Wanda.

A soft murmured question catches his attention and he looks up as FRIDAY chirps happily, “Just to your right, Searge.”

He thinks he sees a little smile as Barnes thanks her. The way he calls her Miss Fri with a Brooklyn drawl makes Tony quirk a fascinated eyebrow as he blindly presses ‘back’ on his phone, dumping it in exchange to try and make out what Manchurian Candidate is trying to do in the kitchen.

He sniffles once more and plants his head on the table, chin propped up like a puppy. The damp hair is heavy on his head and his eyes droop even as he thinks about the pile of things he has to be awake for – SI projects, Widow bites, Falcon’s wing upgrade, which by extension means Redwing, and Rhodey’s suit - among thousand more.

He groans, letting his head fall forth – forehead hitting with a soft smack on the table. “What’re you doing?” He wonders aloud, voice muffled with his jaw planted the way it is.

“Hot cocoa.” Comes the gruff reply. Barnes miraculously sounding as confused as Tony feels, hearing it.

“What?” He rolls his head, looking up at the man.

“Something I remember.” The guy frowns at an opened package in his hand – dark cocoa powder, Tony notes.

“Is it good?” Tony asks mildly, trying to not scare the man than he already looks like.

Barnes shrugs, still frowning as he looks away from the package at Tony. In that moment, with his dull grey eyes and pasty pale skin, he looks so pitifully uncertain and Tony feels something melt in him.

“Well then, let’s try it!” Tony claps once encouragingly. Barnes gives another confused grunt before turning back to what he’d been doing before he got interrupted.

The smell of hot milk waft through the air as Tony plays peeking Tom, peering over the soldier’s shoulder here and there as he goes through his steps meticulously, cleaning every apparatus and shoving away each ingredients he uses as soon as he’s done with them.

It’s like witnessing a weird hypnotic dance which Tony cannot take his eyes off. For fear of missing cool tricks like the way Barnes flips out a knife from one of his many holsters to tear a packet of marshmallow. And the cool way he slips it back into place as Tony takes a cautious step away and keeps a safe distance – getting the clear message to not hover over like a creep in the least threatening manner from the Winter Soldier of all people.

When the beverage is done, Barnes pours it into two big mugs, tops them off with mini marshmallows and slides one towards Tony.

He waits until Tony has taken a sip – careful to blow before so he doesn’t burn his tongue and then proceeding to burn it anyway when he got excited about how it will taste and takes a big gulp like a dumbass.

“Ho – Ho -Hot!” He huffs, fanning over his tongue as Barnes shoots him a flat look.

“Idiot.” He grumbles, taking a sip of his own. “How is it?”

“Really good.” Tony beams, blowing over and over while stirring the marshmallows and watching them melt. “This could be your rent fee. Hot cocoa every day.”

“You’ll die.”

Tony mock gasps, “What’s with you and killing me?”

Barnes shrugs, going back to his mug of hot cocoa. The contrast between the way he looks, deadly, with a hot mug of the most comfiest, fluffy, happy feeling beverage in the world –

Tony snorts. “Fair enough.”

-

Tony’s falling.

Darkness surrounding him like layers of heavy blankets, his lungs burn with the lack of oxygen and he’s falling and falling and –

He startles awake. Gasping, and he feels a trickle of cold sweat run down his neck – which he catches and wipes off on the pile of blankets atop him.

Sharp grey eyes greet him on his left and he jerks upright. “Jeez!” He pants. “Warn a guy will you.”

He untangles himself from the blankets and throw pillows he’s surrounded with. Perhaps hot cocoa on a cold rainy night with Home Alone marathon shouldn’t be sufficient enough of incentives to burrow himself in all things warm.

“How long was I out?” He rasps, wincing at the tearing pain down his throat as he runs his fingers through his sweat dampened hair – trying to contain the tremble in his fingers but barely - and giving a hard yank to it. He can still smell fume and space. Taste death on his tongue –

“Fifteen minutes and forty nine seconds.” Barnes grunts just as FRIDAY quips with the exact answer. Tony snorts humourlessly.

“That’s fifteen minutes less money so, this is my que to go get some work done.” He stands up, feeling for his phone in his pants’ pocket. He senses Barnes staring at him so he decides to try something, out of poor impulse.

Something which may or may not be Steve-approved but what the heck. “You wanna join, winter melon?”

Barnes seems to have been taken off guard. Tony congratulates himself for that feat. And once again when Barnes shrugs and stands up to follow.

“Now I gotta warn you to keep your hands to yourself.” He chats as they board the elevator. Barnes nods seriously. Back straightening up like a soldier in attention, reporting for duty.

Tony bites back a snicker and rattles on. “You have to wait outside until I give you an okay sign and only then can you enter. But you can only take one step and stand still so FRIDAY can scan you and once she deems you’re okay and safe, she’ll grant you entrance.” He lies with a trained poker face. “But if she catches something… Well, let’s say I cannot warrant your safety.”

The elevator pings at his workshop floor and Tony steps out with a tightly pressed pair of lips. When he realizes that Barnes isn’t following him though – back flat against the elevator wall still – Tony loses it completely.

“What happens to my safety?” Barnes asks as Tony doubles over with laughter. Wheezing.

“No- nothing.” He cackles, yanking at Barnes wrist. “I’m just kidding, Snow White.” He sniffles, wiping at tears with his free hand as he uses the other to tug at Barnes. “C’mon. I was just trolling with you.”

The look that Barnes sends his way is nothing short of venomous. But he complies anyway, yanking his wrist harshly out of Tony’s grip as he marches past him and into the workshop with impressive petulance.

“Ooh, someone’s sulking.” He coos after him, wiping the last streak of tear down his cheek.

-

Tony should have known that the bots could have kept to themselves for only sometime before they start getting curious.

Nonetheless, he was in the cusp of a particularly tedious problem when he hears a scuffle, a sickening snap and a resulting pitiful whine.

“DUM-E!”

To say he was surprised, would be an over stretch. His first one has always been a curious little monkey, more so than his siblings.

The bot whines again as Tony reaches for the supply drawer without a second glance. “Sorry bout that. Should’ve started with these menaces. That’s DUM-E. To your right is U and right there in the corner is Butterfinger. She got viciousness tattooed across her heart. So you better avoid her once she’s all charged up.” He smiles at Barnes, who looks gobsmacked, part of DUM-E’s claw hanging listlessly in his frozen metal hand.

“They don’t mean any harm. They just help me around here and God. I’m sorry Dumbo here scared you. He’s a curious little minx like that. But here’s to a new head.” He wags the replacement at DUM-E. “You better stop ruining them young man, or one of these days, you’re gonna be running round headless.” He pokes at the spinning bot – carefully screwing out the excess of the broken part, as he fixes in the replacement.

DUM-E whirs and clasps, unclasps his claw experimentally. Nodding downward then up and to the left then right as he observes Barnes’ shell shocked form, curiously spinning his claw.

“You gotta stop surprising people, buddy.” Tony pats him on the new claw and rolls back to his work station.

He picks back the pencil and keeps an eye on DUM-E as he beeps at Barnes before whirring timidly in his direction again. Maybe the absence of self-preservation runs in the family, Tony muses privately.

Barnes on the other hand, seems to have come out of his shock, as he extends his flesh hand out in the bot’s direction and gently lays it on DUM-E’s now excitedly twirling claw. He looks ready to bolt anytime soon. Tony snorts and scribbles away a note over the holo-screen.

He’s once again absorbed in the problem when he hears the soft, almost shy apology.

“Sorry bout your head. I hope it doesn’t hurt so much.”

And DUM-E’s answering happy beeps.

A few hours later, he finds Barnes asleep on the couch with DUM-E’s claw resting next to his head.

-

Tony’s life carries on like that.

During the daylight, Steve is right by his side; breakfast, lunch, dinner and sometimes he comes down to the workshop in between those mealtimes to sketch and draw. After those two nights, he’d never seen Steve reach out to him while he’s in his bedroom again. He doesn’t know what to think about that, so he let it pass. Tries to forget what he said about sharing too.

During the night time, he asks FRIDAY to alert him whenever Barnes is out of his mancave. They hang out in the kitchen while Barnes whip up more hot cocoa and one such night, he makes batch of bread without a recipe and with a pinched expression on his face. When Tony asks him how he knows the recipe for that and the hot cocoa, he says that he doesn’t know how. He just knows them and he looks so terrified during that admission, Tony shoves a slice of bread into his half-opened mouth and announces, “Who the fuck cares?”

He invites Barnes to the workshop whenever he works overnight. Barnes seems to sleep better in there – for whatever reasons that Tony cannot comprehend.

Barnes, who is brooding 98% of the time while the 2% of that, he spends playing fetch with DUM-E who quickly claims him as his own and battling with Butterfinger who keeps sneaking to inspect his metal limb.

Barnes, who sticks a foot inside the lab and one still outside, looking for permission in Tony’s eyes before stepping both feet inside and making a bee line to the couch whilst keeping vigilant, bright eyes on everything around – curious like a kitten who’s too frightened to sniff around or touch. He keeps to himself; both his questions and hands. Tony wishes he doesn’t.

Barnes, who looks him dead in the eye and says that he may or may not have killed Howard and Maria Stark: “I don’t remember much, but they look familiar.” He wipes a thumb over the snippet of paper he finds lying in one of those big boxes Tony handed over to him because that’s all Howard’s belongings; where the old man kept his WW2 stuffs – all SSR and Howling Commando stuffs.

Tony had said, “Go to town with it,” when Barnes expressed his desire to fit the scattered vintage puzzle pieces in his brain.

Little did he knew, it would act as a murder-memory-trigger.

He keeps quiet. Barely avoiding from scalding himself with the welding torch which he discards for a safer utensil; a wrench.

“I did didn’t I?” Barnes asks after a beat of silence. “Stark?”

Tony’s fingers twitch. “Howard was your target. My mum was the collateral damage.” He clenches them around the tool. “It’s fine. It wasn’t you, it was HYDRA.”

Barnes places the paper back into the box, regarding him with fingers clasped between his spread out legs, elbows propped on his knees and a frown on his handsome face.

“What?” Tony asks, wrench in deadly grip, keeping him grounded to reality and logical thinking by proxy.

“Was that you letting me know that you’re forgiving me?”

Tony shrugs. “I mean, by extension, yeah if that’s what you want. It’s not like I blame you to begin with. I was angry when I found out, sure. But I know what they did to you, which means, I know how you were used like a tool. Their death is not to be on your conscience, winter wonder. It’s HYDRA.”

Barnes is quiet for a very long time. Long enough for Tony to take his silence as an end to their little tete-a-tete and go back to his welding – hands steadier than they had been since Barnes started joining him in the shop.

But before he leaves, he places a metal hand over Tony’s welding hand – stopping him effectively – and says, “I’m not going to apologize because I don’t think I deserve the forgiveness.”

When Tony opens his mouth to counter, he shuts him up with a strained, barely there smile – which Tony is pretty sure, is his first ever, and it sucks that it has to look so sad. “I can’t even forgive myself, Stark. Don’t make this harder on me than it already is.”

And Tony is left stunned with a burning torch in is hand, mind playing back that sad smile over and over.

-

Once, Steve drops by in search for Tony and comes to an abrupt halt when he sees the glint of silver metal poking out a bundle of blanket on the couch. Tony puts a finger over his lips to gesture silence and nods towards the exit where he tells Steve about Barnes and his difficulty to sleep, otherwise.

After that, Steve starts sneaking in more often during the nights when Tony’s in his shop. He stays barely for a minute, just observing the sleeping figure of Barnes and smiling softly in Tony’s direction when he catches his eyes before leaving with a sigh.

Tony doesn’t tell that to Barnes. But he does drag him to join every meal.

“I don’t need to eat.” Barnes had huffed on his third attempt.

“Actually you do.” Tony pointed a finger in his direction, signalling him to wait. He pulled up a holo-screen above the coffee table, displaying all the details about the super soldier serum and he spent an hour and a half explaining to Barnes – the property and countless researches done on it - that Steve got impatient and barged in to usher both of them to the dining table.

He grumbled away something along the line of ‘being easily distracted’ and ‘testing his patience’ as he scooped fried rice onto both of their plates.

They still don’t talk, though. Bucky and Steve. At least not directly to each other, no. But through Tony, they do. And Tony feels like he’s stuck between two parents experiencing a weird kind of feud every time that happens. It’s not like Steve doesn’t try, because god, does Steve try.

_Do you like that, Buck?_

_How’s the chicken, Buck?_

_I’m sure Bucky will side with me on this, right Buck?_

\- and many more.

It’s just, Barnes gets real quiet and shrinks to himself whenever that happens. And each time, Steve’s face falls horribly and still, he tries to valiantly smile past that. But dear lord, does that smile punch a crack in Tony’s heart every damned time it shows.

So, no. They still don’t talk to each other.

And Steve seems adamant to claim the blame for himself.

“What if he _never_ talks to me?”

Tony uses his elbow as a lever to tighten a nut. “I doubt that.” He comments absently, tongue between teeth as he gives another pull.

“You don’t know that. After everything, he has very good reasons to avoid me.” Steve sulks with his pencil and sketchbook. The drape which Barnes uses close to where he can smell and Tony takes the sight in, exchanging the insufferable nut for another.

“Humour me. What do you think are his reasons, Cap?” He resumes his previous position. This time, when he pulls, the nut tightens smoothly like a knife to soft butter. He glares at it’s useless counterpart on the table.

“_I’m_ the reason HYDRA took hold of him, Tony. If I had gone back for him, they wouldn’t have found him and he wouldn’t have gone through all -,”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on.” Tony wheels himself until he’s hand width apart from Steve. “What the hell are you on about?”

“You know what I mean.” Steve looks at him incredulously as if Tony is the one who’s being absurd and Tony, disgruntled, stares him right back with same expression.

“No, Steven. I _don’t_ know what you mean.” He snipes then sighs. Tired hand going to his greasy hair. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been blaming yourself for what happened to your boyfriend. Please. Because I cannot take all your guilt over the sheer Mount Everest height of my own cause then, I’ll burst. And avalanche and oof!” He gestures wildly to an explosion mid-air.

“How is it _not_ my fault?”

Tony gapes at him in disbelief. “How is it _yours_? Steve, please. It’s not. Don’t go down that hill. Nope. Just stop right before you roll down there because that’s not where you belong. You’re not at fault. Repeat after me, now.” He jabs at Steve. “It’s not my fault.”

Steve gives him a ridiculous look. But Tony jabs again. “Go on. Say it.” To which he complies wearily, rolling his eyes. “It’s not my fault.” Weak. But he says it regardless.

“Good. Now, don’t make me get you a therapist. Okay?” Tony turns around to wheel away, but a hand over his shoulder stops him mid turn.

Steve looks close to sheepish as he lets go off Tony and cups the back of his own head; the skin along his nape colouring red and Tony tries not to think about the 101 ways he’d like the find out where that flush meets its end.

“Ca-,” He pauses, thinking twice and begins anew, “Steve?”

“I wonder if it will be different.” Steve says, head stills ducked, facing the floor instead of Tony. “If I had been the one to fall from the train.”

Air punches out of Tony with a force.

“Maybe it should have been me. If I could have grabbed him and pulled him and maybe we’d both have been safe or even if not, maybe if it had just been me – I mean, I just.” He peers up at Tony, looking miserable, “He just doesn’t deserve it, you know.”

Tony scrubs his hands over his face, finding it incredibly difficult to breathe as he tries to focus his thoughts. “Steve,” He starts, but finds no visible ends unfortunately.

He doesn’t know what to say to the guy.

In the end, he only manages to stare at Steve, speechless, mouth parted waiting for words to miraculously pour out while Steve waits for him patiently to hear. But Tony can’t. He presses the heels of his palms over his eyes until they whites-out.

“Maybe I do need a therapist.” Steve jokes weakly.

Tony snorts, his eyes still pressed closed. “I don’t know bout that.” He finally blinks open, his voice surprisingly raw and he tries for a smile despite that. “But I’m glad you got that out of your chest.”

Steve chuckles, pinching his nose-bridge. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

“For what it’s worth.” Tony says. “As terrible as this may sound. I’m glad it isn’t you HYDRA turned into Winter Soldier.”

When Steve quirks an eyebrow up at him, he vomits out a train of words. “I mean, can you imagine? I don’t know what version of the serum Barnes got in his system but I know for sure that it’s not the fully fledged one that you got. So just, I mean. Imagine the extent they have to go to wipe out your memories,” He shudders, picture of blood, needles, and lobotomy clouding his eyes, “Cap. I can easily imagine it to be ugly and frankly, you’d be a lot meaner and tougher and not to mention, a hell lot of scarier and I honestly don’t know if we could even capture you, let alone… Free you. So yeah.” He puts his arms up in surrender. “Hate me if you must, but for purely selfish reasons, I’m glad it’s not you who fell off that train. Not that I’m glad Barnes did – I’m not that big of an asshole. I hope nobody fell. For real. But just. Glad, it’s not you. Okay?”

Steve gives him a long imperceptible look before he says, voice stiff and low. “Okay.”

Tony gulps, regaining some bearing and straightening up in his chair. “Okay.” He nods.

“Okay.” Steve’s lips quiver with a poorly suppressed smile and Tony succumbs to a breathy laugh, knocking his knees with Steve’s, feeling like he’s an awkward teenager again – hormones bubbling and blood rushing to his face. All for no reasons and just because -

“Yeah, okay.” He meets Steve’s blue eyes – had they always been that intense? – and quickly peels away, swivelling in his chair and wheeling off to his station.

His mind and heart screaming in their respective cages.

-

It doesn’t take long for Steve to tumble into the workshop one night while Barnes is wide awake.

Tony looks from Barnes tensed form to a hesitant Steve and says, “Hiya, Cap.” Pretending to go back to his work while his pulse jumps with nerves, anticipating a fight or a flight.

He picks from the corner of his eyes as Steve squares his shoulders and stubbornly marches towards the progressively stiffening Barnes. Tony gulps, fingers coming to a still mid-air and he bodily turns to watch whatever Steve plans, unfold.

But Steve doesn’t confront Barnes. Instead, he picks up his sketchbook from the table near Barnes’ end of the couch and rounds up to plop on the opposite end, jaw clenched as he flips pages after pages noisily, much to Tony’s amusement.

For a second, is feels like a childish playground fight for a fucking couch where Steve is reclaiming his space in Tony’ workshop, petulantly accepting the fact that it means he has to accept sharing it with the new kid on the block; Bucky Barnes. Who also happens to be his oldest and bestest friend, but they’re on some kind of break because something went sour there and Tony thinks, this is twisted and ridiculously messed up.

But _hilarious._ So he tries so hard from giving into a giggle fit. Especially at the constipated look that takes place on Barnes face, and when Barnes catches his eyes, he quirks a challenging eyebrow. Making Barnes huff and tug the blanket from the head of the couch and wrap himself with it, curling into his corner with knees pulled up and a determined hunch to his shoulder that translates to: _I’m not leaving._

Tony shakes his head with a splitting grin and goes back to his schematics. The familiar scratch of pencil against paper lulls him into a steady focus and the smile lasts a long time, knowing Barnes is there two; two incredulously stubborn super soldiers who are finally, tired of avoiding one another.

-

After that, it all slowly gets better.

Barnes doesn’t shrink as much, and even though he is quiet, but he begins to respond to Steve.

The first time he does, Steve goes still with shock before splitting into the biggest sappy smile that Tony has ever seen him wear. It makes Tony smile as well – even when his heart aches, it aches beautifully, it’s sad.

Steve doesn’t force. He keeps his distance and he keeps his hopes in check. Tony sees that.

He sees how Steve stops himself before he takes another step towards Barnes. He sees how long he lets the time stretch before he tucks closer to the other end of the couch – so the distance between them stays the exact same as they were on the first day they had sat there together.

He sees how Steve’s fingers twitch by his side. How he initially wants to throw an arm over Barnes’ shoulder but changes course and throws it over Tony’s instead.

He sees how he comes second to Barnes.

He sees it and he wants to hate it, but he can’t.

Because even Tony wants to throw his arm around Barnes. Even Tony wants to touch Barnes, pull him into a hug, wipe that broody look on his face, make him laugh, tear through that heavy guard and tell him that it’s alright. _It’s alright, you’re safe here. It’s alright_.

Maybe because it’s Barnes and that’s his thing.

Making people fall for him.

That’s why when one day when Tony finds himself unusually alone in his workshop – without Steve or Barnes. He asks FRIDAY where the latter is.

Because Steve, he can understand. Steve doesn’t come down all the time. Some nights, he prefers to be by himself in his suite. But Barnes. Tony has never seen a night in his workshop without his presence since the first time he’d invited him over.

Therefore, it’s unusual and he worries – understandably – when FRIDAY tells him that Barnes is on the rooftop again.

“Steve?” He asks, wishing selfishly that he’s not with Barnes. He doesn’t know if he can handle that thought. Even if it’s overdue, he’s not ready yet.

“Captain Rogers is asleep in his bedroom, boss.”

Tony breathes out in relief, picking himself up and out of his workshop and into the elevator in a daze.

“Is he in distress?” He questions as the elevator moves.

“Not in particular, boss.”

“But?”

FRIDAY seems to hesitate a little before she admits softly, “Data do indicate that he has been more withdrawn today than he has been for the past month.”

Tony taps worriedly at the side of his leg, stepping out cautiously once he reaches the roof.

It’s raining again. This time, pelting cats and dogs; soaking him to the bones as soon as he steps onto the helipad and out of the shelter.

The shadow of Barnes is hunched at the same place – drawing out memories of their last time in similar setting like some kind of bitter nostalgia. This time however, Barnes is not wedged between metal bar, he’s out, bare and vulnerable. One forward tip away from falling down.

Tony sucks in a breath, hugging himself as a shiver wrecks down his spine. “Looking lonely there, snowflake.” He speaks up over the louder splats. “If someone sees you like this, they may get the wrong idea.”

Barnes doesn’t turn around, but he does ask Tony. “What kinda wrong idea?” His words a little slurred.

Clenching his fist when a shudder defeats him, Tony closes the rest of the distance between them and plops down heavily next to other man. Closing his eyes when Barnes’ body heat licks deliciously, chasing away the curdling cold of autumn rain. It makes him smile that Barnes doesn’t immediately flinch or attack him from the proximity.

It’s not like Tony expected him to, because they’d shared close spaces before. Sat next to each other. Barnes had flicked Tony on his forehead a multiple times and allowed Tony to poke him or sidle up next to him to get a closer look at what he’s making in the kitchen.

But the parallel that his mind draws; between the first time they had sat on this helipad together and this time – the one feet distance and ‘I can kill you’ comment then and the easy way Barnes throws an arm over Tony’s shoulder and pulls him closer into his heat this time. That. That makes him feel things that he doesn’t want to immediately try and understand.

Because he knows when he does – understand, that is – there will be no way back.

Tony is not a fool. He knows very well where he’s headed to but he cannot stop because he’s helpless.

Tony is not a fool, he knows the difference between tears and raindrops and they are both running down Barnes’ cheeks.

“That you got no company.”

Barnes chuckles darkly – another progress. Smiles, laughs, happiness. There are more and more of those moments, even if they’re tinged with darkness and morbidity, they look beautiful on him.

“Ain’t that true?”

Tony mock gasps at him. “How dare you? When I’m right here.” He flicks at Barnes’ thigh and gets himself into a headlock. Albeit for a second, it leaves him breathless.

Barnes looses his grip on him but keeps his arms over the shoulder still. He doesn’t say a word after and Tony wants to protest. He wants to poke at Barnes until they’re both under a shelter – inside the tower, better. Safe and away from the pouring rain, away from cold and shivers.

But Barnes looks more at peace here and Tony, despite his discomfort, is enthralled by that vision.

They stay uninterrupted until Tony sneezes and Barnes looks at him, all wide grey eyes – even after a month, Tony cannot decide on one colour for Barnes’ eyes. Like the other day in the sunlight, they looked green. It’s confusing -

And Barnes decides they should go back inside.

-

They tumble out of the elevator, Tony stubbornly dragging Barnes after him. Refusing to let him drown in his sadness all by himself.

“You’ll catch cold.”

“You’re being stupid.”

“You’ll catch cold!”

“I don’t catch anything, idiot.”

“Shut up. You’ll catch cold. Now, get in here.” He tugs him into the bathroom, searching from one cabinet to another until he finds a stack of fresh towel and tosses one over at an unsuspecting Barnes. “Dry yourself, you big shaggy murder dog.”

“Murder dog?” Barnes lifts an eyebrow at him, looking exhausted behind that amused mask he wears for Tony and Tony hates himself. Hates that someone doing something _for _him can sway him that easily.

He places the one he’d picked out for himself on the counter beside the sink. Pulls Barnes’ towel out of his hands and tip toes so he can reach up to dry his wet shaggy hair. He cradles his head with one hand and rubs the other side with the other, rinses, and repeats on the opposite side until he pauses to wipe down the fresh tear tracks down Barnes’ flushed cheeks because he can no longer ignore them and Barnes pulls him into a bone crushing hug.

A sob wrenches out of Barnes’ chest and Tony feels himself shred into pieces. “Sshh.” He runs his towel covered hand up and down Barnes’ broad back, feeling big all of a sudden when he’s the smaller one between them.

All the trust Barnes thrusts upon him with a single break down – sobbing and shaking like a child in Tony’s hold. Entrusting Tony to what? Look after him? Hold him?

Tony doesn’t know. But he knows that he’ll do anything for this man too. Just like he’ll do anything for Steve.

Damn super soldiers; worming their ways into his heart one after another. Only to break it when they leave with each other after, because Tony is not whom they really want – is he.

He’s just a temporary resting place. Like a pit stop.

And fuck heaven and fuck life because if pit stop is all he’s destined to be, then Tony Stark will be the best damned pit stop ever. One which his customers will never forget.

It’s that ferocity that makes him sit Barnes down on the closed toilet lid. Discard the wet towel in exchange for a fresh dry one and wipe the rest of him. First comes the t-shirt, then the undershirt, followed by belt and an array of holsters and weapons which Barnes helps with, once his sobs has come to an end.

Tony leaves the man dry from waist up with his pants still on while he excuses himself out of the bathroom – intending to leave Barnes with his propriety intact while he gets himself fully dry and calms down – but the metal fingers around his elbow stops him and he finds himself in the V of Barnes’ legs, stunned to silence while Barnes sets to dry him in return.

He’s surprisingly gentle and meticulous, as he goes through Tony’s hair, face, neck and exceptionally careful when he reaches his chest and the mesh of scar. He lingers there, catching Tony’s eyes in an intense stare that speaks so much but none at the same time, tripping Tony - then he moves downwards to Tony’s pants.

Which is where Tony’s sure he’s supposed to draw the line but he’s stupidly frozen – watching as if he’s outside looking in as Barnes drops the towel and runs nimble fingers skimming past the border of the soaked jeans, flesh thumb catching at one loop and one forceless tug and Tony goes tumbling into Barnes.

Hot mouth meets the skin around his navel and one searing swipe of a tongue, Tony’s jumping apart as if burnt.

Shaky hand reaching for his head where he grabs a fistful of his own hair, a manic sort of laughter escaping his own mouth. “You should sleep.” He says once words are comprehensible in his head.

Barnes waits until Tony peeks up at him, the intense look from before still there. But maybe, slightly less feral than it had been. “I can’t sleep alone.” He says with a finality.

Tony hesitates. Considering suggesting the workshop but he’s really out of it now. He doesn’t think he can fake working at the moment.

“Can I sleep here with you?”

The request throws Tony off guard. More so than the hug – or whatever that was - had been. He swallows. Opens his mouth to say no and then closes again because how can he say no?

Barnes had just had a meltdown. He’d just entrusted himself to Tony – revealing himself all vulnerable and completely going pliant under Tony’s hand and Tony – how can he say no?

So he puts on his usual cheeky mask and he winks. “Strictly sleeping, soldier. I’m afraid sex will cost you something else.

Barnes looks at him with that shrewd eyes for much longer than necessary and nods.

It is then, Tony realises that while Steve takes without knowing, Barnes on the other hand knows the kind of power he holds over Tony and is not afraid to make use of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asksjkj I didn't know where to cut the chapter off. the night is long, pals. the night is loooong  
to be cont. in the next chapter  
also, i loveeeee all those comments. thank you for leaving your thoughts for me to read and get motivated. as well as the kudos. <3  
P:s// i update every friday unless i specify :)


	8. Patching My Way to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gives him an undecipherable look. From where Tony sits, it makes him feel like an intruder to a very private moment, so he sucks his breath and turns his back to them. He just wishes that if and when they decide to kiss, they’ll spare him the hurt and don’t do it in his sanctum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicide discussion - there's some discussion on major characters feeling suicidal but nothing extensive or explicit

Tony slips under the cover fully intending to keep to his side of the bed. Hands cupped over his chest, ram rod straight like a fucking Dracula in his coffin bed.

But that only lasts for a second before Barnes’ huffing and pulling him against him – metal arm heavy and almost pinning across his waist while he tucks his flesh hand between Tony’s neck and the pillow to cup his head and pull him into warm chest.

“Urm, Barnes?” Tony huffs, wiggling to free his face from the heat of one super soldier’s bare chest but gets hushed immediately.

“It’s Bucky.” Barnes loosens his hold around him, letting him breathe. “You call me every name but my own. I know you were waiting for me to… get to know myself.”

Tony’s throat goes dry, stumped that Barnes has paid attention to that. “So, it’s Bucky then?”

He feels, rather than hears the affirmation. A single nod above his own head, then, “Stop calling me Barnes in your head.”

Tony bristles. “You don’t know what I call you in my head.”

“I do.”

“No you don’t.”

Barnes – Bucky, chuckles. “I do. You’re transparent as fuck. I know what you think.”

Put-up, Tony tilts his head up and fixes him with a challenging stare. “Fine. Tell me what I’m thinking now.”

Barnes – dammit, Bucky, smirks. “You’re frustrated because you cannot decide between Barnes and Bucky.”

“Hah! Lies. That’s not what I’m really thinking.” Tony lies shamelessly, wearing a smug grin of victory to hide his shaken hackles.

Barnes gives him an unimpressed look. Then a devilish glint takes upon his honest-to-god, smouldering grey. Or blue. No, grey.

Well, fuck.

“Fine. You’re thinking what you should do now because I made a move on you in there earlier.” He gives the barest jerk of his head in the direction of the bathroom.

Tony’s smug grin slips. “No.” He gulps audibly. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And you wanna know what I’m thinking?”

Instinct says no. But curiosity runs his head. So, Tony shakes his head but he says, “Yeah?”

Bucky’s pink – too pink – lips quirk upwards, but doesn’t give into a smile. “I’m thinking that you should keep thinking about that.”

At Tony’s questioning hitch of breath, he brushes the back of his metal fingers along the goose bumps rising along Tony’s neck. “Because that’s a move I will never regret.” He whispers, sinful like the devil in the dark of the night. The sound of the rain outside is a messy pitter-patter like Tony’s heart. “You’re my first selfish choice in a very long time and I want you to really think about that.”

Tony doesn’t even realise that he has stopped breathing until Bucky flicks at his forehead with a too gentle force and says, “Breathe, idiot.”

And Tony does.

“Bucky, you ca-,” He goes to stay but is shut down by a trigger finger to his still open mouth.

A stubborn, deprecating smile blossoms along Bucky’s lips. “Don’t.” And he sounds too raw, too rough. Too sad, when he speaks, “Don’t take that away from me. Please.” He adds as an afterthought.

And Tony breaks.

Cracks and sharp shards, more and more of them until he’s nothing because how?

How does he say that Bucky Barnes is hurting him with hopes when he says things like that? How to keep mum and let Bucky think he’s being rejected when Tony wants nothing but keep him, forever? How to make Bucky understand that he belongs to Steve and Steve alone and Tony is just an infatuation which will soon pass so he should find a way around that and move on?

So he utters that one name that keeps echoing in his splitting head. “Steve.”

A weary sigh puffs out of Bucky. “Stevie’s chasing after a past, and I’m not that past.” He shakes his head. “I don’t remember half the thing he wants me to remember. I know what we used to be to each other. Don’t ask me how.” He peers up at Tony, “I just know. But-,”

He pauses with a deepening frown. A second stretches to two, then ten and Tony gets impatient. “But?”

“I don’t know if he – I’m not the Bucky he wants and I don’t know if what used to be can come to be again when I’m not longer that -,”

“He loves you.” Tony blurts out. When Bucky’s eyes snap to him, he gives him an assuring smile. “He loved you and will always love you no matter what.” He struggles to push down the painful lump making its way up his throat, never letting the smile waver, and he pokes an index over Barnes’ bare chest. “You know that’s true.”

Bucky catches his hand and keeps it there. “I wish I’m dead.” He confesses, punching out what little breath is there within Tony with the suddenness of it. “By wolves or snow. Don’t care. Just want myself to be dead and not having been found by them.” He drags his breath in like it hurts him to do so.

“But it happened and no matter how many times I tried to put myself out, when I resurfaced in that bunker, I survived. I’m here. I lived through all that and I’m here.” He gives a harsh tug to Tony’s hand in his grasp, his eyes pained but something fierce as his gruff voice grows frantic, “And I still wish I’m dead. Every day. Every night, it’s louder. What do you think I was doing on that roof today. The other day? I know you know why I was there and you’re not wrong at all.”

Tony shudders violently, not from cold but from dread. He got thousands of words to say. His heart aches like a balloon swollen too big for its size. It aches and aches and he hurts.

But he keeps his silence and lends his ears – even if they bleed from the brunt of those confessions they hear.

“But lately, it got better. Lately, I can sleep. Lately, I eat three times a day and I can close my eyes without lurching in panic that someone’s gonna put a gun to my head or worse, fix me to a chair, wires and mouth guard and blow my brain out.” His grip around Tony’s hand is encasing, squeezing to the point of it almost hurts and yet, it doesn’t. “Because lately, there’s you.” Barnes – no, Bucky, says like a caress.

“So if you don’t want me, I can understand. Don’t expect you too – hopes are dangerous thing for someone like me, if there even is someone else like me. And Stevie too. I don’t expect him to want me after all that. He will say that he does.” He nods when Tony opens his mouth to protest. “But that’s because it’s Stevie and he’s a self-sacrificing idiot like that. It’s better for him if I’m not all up on him.”

Bucky looks sad and weary but Tony cannot help the bubble of laughter that leaves him. “Sorry. Not being an insensitive jerk but just- You’re wrong about Steve you know. He’s a tactical genius. Not so much of a self-sacrificing jerk – at least not the Steve now, I think. He can be selfish when he wants to and when it comes to you, especially you. He’s so fucking selfish, nothing can stop him. Not even the word falling apart and trust me because that’s the truth.” Another laugh escapes Tony when Bucky Barnes blinks stupidly at him. It’s not a good look on him. Stupid, that is. Tony will let him know that one day, but now, “You think he’s free now? That his teammates aren’t calling him to give a hand? You think he’s resting? You think what? That this is a high time and there’s no bad guys out there trying to end the world? ‘Cause there are, okay. There are missions and there are calls upon calls but that man there, in his floor, his room, right next to yours? He’s there because he’s compromised. Emotionally, mentally and physically because all he has, he’s been giving it to finding you. To get you back,”

“But I’m not-,”

“The same Bucky Barnes. Yeah, I know, I heard you. More importantly, _Steve _knows.” Tony pauses, helplessly bringing a hand up to push back a stray strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. His emotion’s wrought for the man lain in his bed, holding onto him like he would life. “So don’t you worry about the old Bucky Barnes because nobody’s waiting for you to be him. All we’re waiting for is for _you_ to feel better. About yourself. Mentally, physically. Everything. Feed yourself, get healthier. You know? That kind of better. And when I said that Steve wants to get you back, I meant that. Better, healthier. You. In whatever form you’re comfortable in; _you_.” Tony wipes away the single tear that spills over. “Happy.” He whispers firm and loud enough, hoping Bucky will keep that in mind.

When days get tough and nights get tougher, he hopes Bucky will remember that all they want him to be is happy.

And because Tony cannot say no to him; now more than before since Bucky vocally asked him to, he lets the man curls himself into a ball small enough to tuck into Tony’s arms and fall asleep.

At least that’s what he thought until Bucky garbles in sleepy slurs, “It’s fucked up how I know you love him, and I still want you,” and Tony’s ears ring until he cannot hear anything else but his own whooshing blood in their vessels.

-

Tony wakes up first. Eyes crinkling shut tighter, recalling his whereabout, before he snaps them open, taking in the man half sprawled a top him. Metal arm circling around his neck, cold fingers cradling his head loosely. It feels as if he’d been coddled while asleep and that gives way to a spill of something warm, sunny, in his chest. Or maybe it’s just the actual sunlight – but the binder isn’t open yet.

He registers the long lashes, dark and brushing the soft, pale sliver of skin that always appear bruised – a tell tale of how much the man misses sleep – and the random sprinkle of scarce freckles.

Tony shifts his focus away, dragging his eyes back to Bucky Barnes’ face. More specifically his spectacular bed head – courtesy of his long hair that apparently go above and beyond to make a nest fit for quails to lay eggs – and he doesn’t fight the smile that sneaks out, fingers itching to touch but he keeps them still. Yearning.

When Bucky stirs awake, it’s a moment of revelation to witness the wildly accredited Winter Soldier blush.

Tony couldn’t suppress the grin that splits from one ear to another as he takes in the pink that blossoms and spreads throughout those exceptionally chiselled cheeks and down to long neck where his Adams’ apple bob enticingly and Tony averts his eyes, shifting to hide the flush of blood to his groin.

“Sorry if I scared you last night.” Bucky says, hunched over the edge of the bed once they’ve awkwardly peeled themselves off each other. Head in his hands, he looks sheepish as he peeks up at Tony.

Tony throws a wink, “No worries. I used to want to yank out the arc reactor – this device that kept me alive,” He taps at the mesh of scars on his chest. Something about the way Bucky looks so guilty makes him open his own can of worms. Fair and square and all that shit. “Every… Sometimes. Until I got it out – surgically removed - and that’s one of the reasons why I took it out, actually.” He shrugs as Bucky straightens up, alert at that tiny tid-bit Tony had laid out for him. “My opinion is that, all of us, at least once, have thought about it. You know? But I think the power of ending our live is not in our hand so that we will learn to live despite everything. And well, yeah. There’s that.”

-

Bucky Barnes begins to open up more after that.

His curiosity is a spread out ocean. All the questions he shied away from asking before flood out of him like a burst dam. Tony entertains all of them with remarkable patience while Steve hides his smile behind his faithful sketchbooks.

Sometimes he shares his thoughts, more often, memories.

The first time it happened, Tony choked on a mouthful of green juice. It was not a pretty sight.

Bucky was fiddling with one thing or playing fetch with DUM-E when he said with no ounce of weight_; “I think I died in Azzano.”_

And then there was;

_“Man’s meat is not so tough on teeth.”_

When the clatter of wrench Tony dropped out of shock came to an end, he added. _“There was this mission that went longer than they predicted. Supplies ran out.”_ Like that explained everything.

Not all were so morbid though.

_“Is there an Endell Street? Think I got fucked in there in the 40s.” _

Tony laughed so hard, he slipped off the chair on which he’d been sitting on precariously trying to get the best angle to work on a micro circuit-chip.

But he only ever did when they were alone, with no Steve in vicinity. Tony had been battling with himself as to how he should interpret that Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s boyfriend is spending more effort in bonding with him instead of reinstating whatever there had been between those two legends when Bucky opens his mouth one afternoon, while Steve is curled and bundled up with Bucky’s blanket – something that has been happening more often lately, the space sharing extending to sharing things they’ve claimed as their own and sometimes, if Bucky nods off on Steve’s shoulder, nobody brings it up - watching the pitter patter of autumn rain outside the workshop window with a mug of coffee nestled in his hands, and asks; “Did we own a radio?”

Tony, to his credit, only paused briefly, going back to his work once it’s clear that he’s not whom Bucky is talking to. But he keeps an ear perked nonetheless.

He hears Steve hum unsurely and stutter a few time, an amused smile twitching at his own lips, before Steve clears his throat and answers, “I don’t know – FRIDAY kinda takes care of music and all …,”

He’s pretty sure Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve. “Not now, punk. I meant when we used to live together.”

Something blossoms in Tony’s chest. Something with warm tendrils and it’s impossible to keep his eyes from darting towards Steve. Steve who turns to look at Tony just that instance as well – wide blue eyes sparkling with pure joy – and they share a look. Something between understanding and carefully restrained hope, before Steve turns back to Bucky, a soft smile on his face – the kind that Tony is entirely too familiar with and still not quite – and says, “No, Buck. We didn’t”

He watches Bucky’s face crumple. Watches as Steve’s fingers twitch and this time, he abandons the effortful restraints and reaches out a shaky hand to place over the metal arm. Just a touch, nothing else; Tony gulps. “But there was this flat a block away that always played Sinatra every Friday without a miss. Maybe you’re thinking about that?”

Bucky gives him an undecipherable look. From where Tony sits, it makes him feel like an intruder to a very private moment, so he sucks his breath and turns his back to them. He just wishes that if and when they decide to kiss, they’ll spare him the hurt and don’t do it in his sanctum.

They don’t.

-

What happens though, is a lot less subtle but progressive nonetheless.

There is no immediate hugging or kissing. At least, as far as Tony can tell. Which is much, considering the amount of time Barnes spends with Tony and Steve by that extension and he’s about 100% sure that neither ever spends it alone with just the two of them, with Tony not there to catalyse whatever they need catalysed between them.

Therefore, he can atone for it; the subtle but progressive part to their development.

Especially when he bares witness to the first time Steve’s now daring but still tentative legs go from their strictly bent up to his chest position on the couch to loose and straight and one day whilst their owner is too absorbed in his drawing and the other occupant of the furniture is busy listening to Tony yammering about something science-y, they make the slightest brush of contact with him.

Just the tip of one socked feet which ends up sliding a little too close to home without Steve’s consent and ends up poking the side of Bucky’s thigh which immediately tensed up, and Steve by proxy while Tony, even if he noticed, he kept carrying on with the barest of pause which he expertly masks as a need to inhale – okay, maybe not so expertly if the look Bucky gives him is of any meaning.

What he expected is, for Steve to immediately retract his foot. What ends up happening though, is Steve leaving it there with a clenched jaw and a pair of too focused eyes burning a hole into his sketchbook. Something completely 180 degree from what Tony perceives of Steve that he has to blink.

He pushes nonsense jargons out of his windpipe waiting for Bucky to either move away or push or worse, walk out. But then, Bucky relaxes. Not moving even a fraction of inch. Just keeps sitting there with a no longer tensed body, even if he looks like his brain is floating elsewhere.

So it becomes a safe territory for them – contact, that is.

Tony holds his breath through that entire science-babble, he’s breathless by the end of it. And when his chest aches the slightest afterwards, he doesn’t know if it’s to be attributed to holding his breath for too long or something else entirely.

Slowly, one foot becomes two. And soon, Bucky begins to expect the contact rather than anticipate. Even going as far as letting Steve burrow them beneath his thigh.

Tony so does catch a small smile that quirks up along Steve’s mouth every time that happens.

It is then when Tony starts to think that maybe, Steve knows how to make demands too. Like Bucky who used his power over Tony to sneak into his bed, Steve can be bastard like that too. Except, he doesn’t use it on Tony because it’s not ‘like that’ between them.

Only that in Tony’s mind, it’s getting more and more difficult to remind himself that it is indeed not ‘like that’ between Steve and him. No matter however much Tony wants it to be. It can’t be.

-

They’re alone one day. Steve chooses to stay in his room – something about calling Sam and catching up with Nat.

It’s drizzling outside and Tony has half a steaming mug of the delicious hot cocoa sitting on his worktable. Courtesy of Bucky, who also has one in his hands as he curls up with straightened out legs, taking up the space that’s usually occupied by Steve, with his blanket draped over and another two extra throws which Tony tossed at him because he looked miserable.

Yet, he still does. Which is bothering Tony because it’s that same look he’d seen on Bucky those two times he’d caught him on the rooftop – whatever that look means – and it worries Tony.

So he makes his away to the garage part of the shop – where he tweaks with engines when work gets a little too much – and he starts assembling a bunch of stuffs.

Then he braces himself and calls out, “Hey, you wanna build a motorbike?”

If a winter soldier can startle, it’s the first time Tony pays witness to such phenomenon. He grins sheepishly at the other man, waving an expansive hand towards his loot and he shrugs, “Eh?”

It makes the misery thin out of Bucky’s eyes, even as the murderous part begins creeping in. But when he speaks, it’s listless and without any grain of salt. “Does it fly?”

“I don’t know.” Tony barks out a laugh, relief washing over him. “It can if you want. Since you’re building it, you can make it do whatever you want it to do.”

Bucky regards him for a long beat of silence. Then, “A project,” he says.

“A project.” Tony confirms.

And that’s how Bucky Barnes begins building a motorbike. With Tony’s guidance where needed.

He works on it every time he’s down in the shop. Sometimes, Tony leaves him to it, because unlike super soldiers, regular human beings like Tony need some sleep.

Steve looks at Tony with gratitude flooding his eyes when he finds out, which Tony waves off as Bucky’s unyielding curiosity and potentials and something that is bound to happen one day or another.

Which is true. Because overtime, Tony learns that the history forgot to mention how incredibly intelligent Bucky Barnes is. And meticulous. Precise and full of plans.

He draws like an engineer. He knows his maths and equations. So Tony has to ask, “Where’d you learn that, buddy?”

Bucky shoots him his ‘are you being stupid’ look. “School.” He says when he realises that Tony’s waiting.

Okay, Tony bids. Then he tries again. “I mean like, did you learn engineering or something? Cause that’s some bloody good sketch right there.” A little outdated for a modern day bikes, but a great one from the 70s.

Bucky dusts off the paper he’s drawing on and straightens up. “Maybe. Dunno for sure.” Is his answers and Tony lets it go albeit his boiling curiosity.

All those pages they spent boasting about Captain America, Tony thinks they could spare one to write about this man and his educational background. Because the more Tony looks at him, the more he cannot help but think it would have been worth noting.

So he asks Steve and Steve, the bloody bastard gives him a mischievous grin and says, “I don’t know Tony. I think you should hear it from him.”

Tony almost keels. “But what if he never remembers it?”

It’s slightly disconcerting but marvellous to watch the switch between their roles when Steve is the one who pats him on the shoulder and smiles, “I’m sure he will. Given time, he will. So, just be patient, alright?”

And how can Tony say no to that without looking like a fucking hypocrite in the end? So he huffs at Steve’s stupid happy face and goes back to glaring at Bucky drawing precise lines on the other table.

-

Steve takes up a mission after three months.

He’s not particularly happy to go but he puts on his brave face and leaves after Tony assures him that they’ll be alright. He’ll keep Bucky safe.

Steve hugs him and says, “Keep yourself safe for me too.” But he avoids thinking too much about that, focusing on Bleeding Edge and the motorbike project he’d started with Bucky instead.

They’re working on perfecting the engine. Bucky wants it smooth, no sound – which is impossible, so _almost_ no sound – and fast. “No flying.” He’d declared when Tony had asked about it the other day.

Tony cleared out a holo-table for Bucky to sketch out the body he wants for his bike. Bucky decided to show his gratitude with a lemon cake.

And incredibly delicious lemon cake – which Tony has tasted once, before, and is not beneath blaming his extra pounds on.

He’s doing that thing where he’s sidling up close to Bucky and peering at every single step that goes into the process when Bucky drops a bomb on him.

“I think they wiped me most before they sent me after Steve.”

Tony freezes with his pinky in his mouth – the taste of the cake batter is yet to disappear from his tongue.

“I recognized him on the bridge and when I asked them, they got scared so they went bat shit crazy with the chair. I could barely remember to breathe when they stopped.”

Tony’s stomach churns and he feels sick – too sick all of a sudden. The taste of bile when he last puked his gut out watching Bucky Barnes’ Maintenance and Deployment replaces the taste of lemon zest on his tongue.

“Twenty-one times.” He recalls robotically.

The sound of the whisk dropping into the metal bowl echoes around him.

“How’d you know?” Bucky yanks at his elbow. Lips pressed tight, ashen, and he’d hissed the words out but his eyes speak of terror.

Tony wraps his hand around Bucky’s around his. “They have a video.” He utters, choking on his breath when he sees those grey-blue eyes widen in horror and Bucky lets him go with a shove.

Tony reaches out for him, pleading. “I couldn’t watch it all. FRIDAY pulled it out because I didn’t know anything except that you were sent to murder my parents and I wanted to know your side. I just wanted to understand.” He explains, breathless.

Bucky flinches away from his touch, and Tony’s heart breaks into a million pieces.

“Did you?” He asks after a beat of silence. “Understand.” He adds when Tony looks up at him in question.

“Yeah.” Tony nods breathily.

Bucky snorts, picking up the whisk and continuing with the batter like he didn’t miss a beat. “I bet you do. Must’ve looked so pathetic, you ended up feelin’ sorry for me. Cause - Is that what this is?” he turns around to Tony, flaring with anger that makes Tony shrink into himself. “All these shelter and support, because you _pity_ me?”

“God, no. No, no.” Tony splutter. Reaching out again instinctually before he remembers and he pockets his clenched fists. “Sympathy is there but it’s not _everything_ that I feel for you.”

“Then what is it?” Bucky rounds on him. Cake batter laden whisk in one hand, the other on his hip, looking like an angry mother hen but in that instant, it’s not even close to funny. “What do you feel for me, Tony?”

Frustrated about this whole debacle and even more pissed out angry at HYDRA for everything, Tony squares his shoulders up and says with a straight face. “Pride. That’s what I feel. I look at you and I am so fucking proud of the person you’ve become. After – After everything, I am proud.”

And he knows, his body language yells ‘fucking fight me!’ because he’s not about to back down if Bucky doubts him. Because it is the truth. He’s proud of Bucky Barnes. Perhaps with a sprinkle or maybe - lets be honest - a truck full of affection, fondness, call it what you want; _love_, poured into that, but let’s not get into that now.

He’s more focused on getting into a full-fledged argument with Bucky about his statement that he doesn’t see it coming until it happens.

Bucky abandons the whisk in a flash precision to lung for Tony – gathering him up in a suffocating hug and a lift and up on the counter – his hot mouth pressed against Tony’s slacked and surprised one.

“Wha-,”

Wrong move. Because Bucky takes that opportunity to push his tongue inside, stealing Tony’s breath as he kisses as if to suck the life out of Tony. Intense and hypnotizing; it sends Tony into a space where nothing else exist except for him and Bucky and Tony reciprocates, humming – clutching onto Bucky for life as he gives back just as good as he gets. Desperate like they can’t get enough of one another. Bucky kisses and Tony kisses back. Hands wandering all over, shifting shirts out of the way, sneaking under them and brushing against sweltering skin – they shudder and gasp and they grin like loons as Tony massages Bucky’s scalp; a fistful of hair which he tugs whenever Bucky teases with his devilish tongue and sharp bites.

And then FRIDAY interrupts.

“Call from Captain Rogers, boss.”

Tony pulls away with a shuddering breath. His entire body tensing in defence as his mind reels, stuttering and stopping as it tries to reconnect with reality; the tower. Bucky. Steve. Bucky and Steve. Bucky belongs to Steve.

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s metal fingers curl tentatively to cup his cheek. Tony swallows a lump of tears and regret as he closes his own around it, prying them away with a silent ; “I can’t. Please. I can’t”

“Should I send him to voicemail, boss?”

“No!” He hops down the counter, unintentionally knocking away Bucky in the process and reaching out, but stopping mid-air. He didn’t have to. Bucky barely swayed anyway.

But he looks so fucking hurt like someone ripped something out of him that Tony falters – just a step. But regret clouds his brain, reminding of infatuation and pit stops and he walks away from the kitchen and into the living room. “Patch him through, FRI.”

“Tony?”

“Hey, Cap!” Tony greets with faux cheeriness, pressing the heels of his palms over his eyes. It’s a voice call. Steve couldn’t see. “What’s up? Need some assistance?”

He hears Steve chuckle on the other end. Guilt twists around Tony’s stomach and squeezes. He can hear Bucky in the kitchen. He scrubs his face with his hands and stops breathing for a moment. Maybe that way, he can gather his thoughts.

He doesn’t.

“Not really.” Steve sounds sheepish. “Just, wanted to talk.”

He looks up with a frown at nothing in particular. “Just talk? Like you want an advice of something?”

“No Tony. Talk. Like, how’re you doing?” Steve huffs.

Tony swallows the sudden hitch in his breath. “I’m fine” He says. He strains to hear something from the kitchen, but nothing comes out. It’s too silent. But the reflection on the wide screen shows that Bucky’s still there. “How are you doing?” He asks with a bated breath.

Soft laugh chimes through the line, welling warmth that clashes harshly with the guilt that has already twined around his heart.

“I’m good. The mission went fine. I’ll be back by noon tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Tony says, because he can think of nothing else. Steve has never called from a mission before. Never. Unless he needed something. So this is a stretch to all things odd.

He thinks he catches a soft chuckle far without the static crackle – which makes him think of Bucky. But he daren’t hope.

“How’s Bucky?” Steve asks without a pause.

Tony turns around to regard the said man. Narrowing his eyes when he meets a full blown smirk on his face. “He’s fine.” He answers faintly. “He’s here actually. Wanna talk?” He throws an equally challenging smirk back at him.

Bucky responds with a heated stare which makes Tony look away. Chest heavy and heart hammering. He wipes his clammy palms over his pants.

“Nah, he wouldn’t want to.” Steve says. Then a pause and a hesitant ‘er’ and he says it almost too quietly except FRIDAY got the call on speaker and Tony can hear him in normal volume; “I miss you.”

It’s like someone cracked an egg over his skull. Chill spreads from top downwards as he clamps his thighs and squeezes, his throat suddenly too tight and lungs aching. Steve’s following chuckle is too endearing Tony has to bite his bottom lip from making a pathetic face. Instead, he stares at the reflection of Bucky on the TV screen with his heart shrivelling in regrets, guilt and horror and he whispers back, “Miss you too, Cap” in an entirely too sullen tone.

Steve bids his goodbye with his name uttered like a caress Tony doesn’t even deserve. Tony ends the call with a splitting headache and jelly legs which he let carry him to the workshop and away from Bucky Barnes.

-

Barnes didn’t follow him to the workshop that night. Tony would be lying if he claims he didn’t spend half of his night gazing longingly at the pile of dirt metal Bucky had collected during his evening runs to build his motorcycle.

He missed him. The taste of him sits on his tongue heavily as if mocking. He can feel where metal had met skin, where the grip had been stronger and where they had been extremely gentle. He’d traced his lips subconsciously, once or twice. He ached for the man, in a way that reminds him of Steve. But while Steve is a flowing river – a millennium of longing - Bucky feels like gush lava – burning hot and bothering.

Being in love with Bucky Barnes feels like a stolen teenage romance, a forbidden love, dark and passionate, lustful, full of needs. _Illicit_ wants and everything throbbing. Barnes came in like a tornado and swept him off his feet when he’s been least prepared. It feels like when Tony picked up the wrench for the first time – curious, eager to explore and it felt so right once he’d gotten used to it, within a minute wrapped around his fingers that it had become difficult to imagine a life without it ever since.

Belatedly, Tony realised with a sinking dread that he may have passed the stage where he’d gotten used to Bucky Barnes, because now, he struggles to picture a future without him in it.

Bucky doesn’t appear the next day either. Even after Steve barges in with a wide ass grin on his face and a long tale of adrenaline fuelled adventure he’s bursting to share with Tony.

“You have burn wounds which got your suit stuck to your skin.” Tony pokes at the singed Kevlar, grimacing how Steve’s pink flesh shows through its gap.

But the man’s spirit couldn’t be dampened. “Yeah, but Wanda gave me this hoist into the air which displayed how much control she has over her power now. And Redwing is really helpful, and- ow, ow,” He jerks away when Tony starts to poke at the suit with a pincer, minding the still healing wound. “And then Sam caught me mid jump in perfect precision, right. It’s like they all improved so much while I was gone and -,”

“You’re ecstatic.” Tony hums, picking out a long thread that got embedded in the new skin. Steve hisses out a swear and he winces, peering up at him. “Yeah. Sorry but this is nasty. Why didn’t you get out of the suit sooner.”

Steve smiles sheepishly down at him. “Got distracted.” He admits.

Tony gives an eye roll and a shake to his head – picking at the other embedded threads while Steve dives right back into recounting his mission. He smiles here and there. More at Steve’s unbidden excitement than anything else. And each time, he sneaks a look at the man and breaks into a grin when Steve catches his eyes – pupils blown out mildly with sheer happiness.

It’s such a brilliant look on him. Tony can’t help but fall a little more in love with him and a little more in hatred with himself.

He bites away that thought, chasing off his fallen smile as memories of last night rushes through him. He’s becoming a nuisance to himself. He should put a stop now before it gets too late.

“So what did you and Bucky get up to while I was gone?”

Tony gives a wipe to the pincer and moves to another singed patch. “Hmm? Oh, well not much really. He worked on his bike while I did my suit and then we , urm, he baked a cake.” He swallows self-consciously.

“Cake?” Steve beams. “Yeah, Buck always had a knack for baking. What cake did he make?”

“Lemon?”

“Lemon. Or, lemon?”

Tony takes a second to breathe, then directs a flat look in Steve’s direction. “Fuck off, Captain Sasspants.”

Steve sniggers, belly crunching so Tony flattens a hand over his abdomen so stops moving the burnt patch of Kevlar against his wound so much. If he forgets to remove the hand, Steve doesn’t remind him to.

He asks about Bucky’s whereabout then. To which Tony shrugs and calls for FRIDAY’s assistance. Let’s say, he’s curious as well.

“Searge is in his room, Captain. He did leave a Tupperware of lemon cake in the fridge for both you and boss.”

Tony gnaws on his lower lip and focuses unnecessarily hard on freeing Steve from his suit. Steve, the gracious, eloquent human being thanks FRIDAY and starts humming an old Sinatra number under his breath. Tony takes a pause to send an amused look his way, but he simply shrugs, carrying on with the humming with more fervour.

“Next time you get burned, get checked before prattling off to socialize.” Tony pats the washboard abdomen of human perfection, wheeling away to discard the threads and sanitize the pincer and his hands.

He rolls back with an antibiotic wipe, watching in awe as Steve’s skin heals itself up right before his eyes. He’d sniped the Kevlar away so it’s nowhere near the wound which is – wow. Is the only word Tony can think off. Pink flesh disappearing beneath spreading epidermal layer which grows like tiny furls of turbulent river. Winding over one another and Tony is so enticed by its wonder that he barely notices Steve tipping his chin up to meet his eyes.

“Cap?” Tony blinks, the wonder in his eyes barely ceased.

And Steve’s smiling. Soft like he did when Bucky started calling him punk again. That soft smile he often directed to Tony in the last two months they’ve been sharing a space together except, softer.

His thumb brushes over Tony’s bottom lip and Tony’s hooked. His crippling crush which has taken him host and festered since the first time he saw how passion looked on Steve Rogers’ face, takes its hold on him and binds him still – hope flaring like a rainforest fire, sirens blaring and his ears ringing as Steve bends down and fits his pink lips with Tony’s pliant pair.

His mind yells no! But his heart, his poor, poor heart goes willingly where Steve leads him.

Soft hands encase his face like a fragile china-doll, as softer lips press over and over, careful not too much, nor too little. Not too bold, just right. Perfect.

And Tony succumbs.

His heart sings with overwhelming fondness. His brain hurts. His tongue can taste Bucky on it and it’s that thought which breaks his shackles and Tony presses his hands, palms side on Steve’s chest and gives a gentle push.

It’s a real struggle to drag himself out of a whirlpool of thought frenzies. Which is why he’s too silent. Which is why Steve takes it upon himself to explain.

“I love you.” He blurts. Like he could barely contain it. Tony exhales in a rush - like a sharp punch to his gut.

“I do.” Steve insists, because Tony shakes his head.

“You can’t love me because you’re in love with your Bucky, Steve.” Tony negates him roughly. Feeling a part of himself tear with a wince.

It’s Steve who shakes his head this time. It’s an effort for Tony to crane his neck and keep looking at his standing form. So he ducks his head back downwards. His fingers go to tap on the side of his thigh habitually.

“But I do. I looked it up. You can be in relationship with more than one person. It’s called polyexclusive.”

Tony lets out a snort. “Wow. You really thought about this didn’t you?” He chances a glance at him, but only manages to the level of his chest before he gives up. Exhausted.

Steve seems to realize his struggle as he crouches down, going to kneel before Tony as he holds onto the armrest of Tony’s chair – inevitably trapping him.

“I wasn’t going to do something on a whim, Tony. So, yes. I did give this a lot of thought. I want you and I want Bucky too. I love you both. I want to be in a relationship with both of you.”

Tony’s inside quells in disgust at how easily he finds himself agreeing to this notion. Aghast, he gives a stiff shake of his head at Steve and he says flatly, “Polyexclusive only works when all party agree to have a relationship with one another, Steve. What is Barnes’ input in this?”

“I’m trying to gather _your _input here first, Tony.” Steve placates, hope dwindling back in his big blue eyes, as he searches to meet Tony’s eyes while Tony deliberately avoids.

“No.” He objects. “My input doesn’t even matter here. It’s about you and Barnes. It has always been and always will be about you and Barnes, Steve. I don’t fit anywhere near there. You’re just infatuated with me. Once you two get together, I promise you’ll forget all about lil’ ol’ me.”

Steve makes a pained noise. “Bullshit.” He exclaims, one hand reaching up to run through his hair in frustration. “I’m calling bullshit because I know I love you and if you don’t, you can just say so. But, don’t ever try to belittle how I feel about you because that’s my feelings and it may be _for_ you but it gives you no right to demean them in any way.”

“I’m not trying to demean -,”

Steve stops him with an upraised hand in the air, looking as put up as Tony feels. “Do you. Love me or not, Tony?”

Tony bites hard on the inside of his cheek. His eyes burn but he swallows what welling tears that threaten to spill. “It doesn’t matter -,”

“Yes, or no?” Steve grits out punishingly.

Tony looks away. Outright refusing to answer even when Steve calls him out several times as he stands up numbly and Steve reaches out to him, he does; strong hand wrapping around his wrist and stopping him from leaving.

But Tony is an asshole when he wants to be and he turns around with a sneer on his face and he asks Steve steely, even as his heart screams at how wrong it is, “Are you harassing me now, Rogers?”

Steve pulls away with a snap. Face scrunching up horribly in hurt that send spikes to Tony’s stone cold heart.

But Tony walks out anyway. Hurting the man he loves because he’s too scared to hurt himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow ain't this a long long chapter. sorry about it being another cliff hanger, i wanted to cut it at bucky's kiss initially then i decided wth and included steve's too. I'm trying to end this at 10 chapters, if it overshoots, max will be 12, but next chapter will be urm.. conflict resolving. mostly. i'm trying to wrap this fic up as i speak so urm, i hope i do a good work at that.   
regardless, i want to thank you all once again for the kudos and mostly for the comments. Sorry about the cliff hanger again >


	9. Daisy Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He throws all caution to the wind and tip toes to press his lips against Steve’s surprised ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, it never was my intention to leave y'all with a cliff hanger.I don't like them myself, hate them in facts, so here i am, giving the reprieve to that unnecessary cliff hanger.
> 
> 1) TW: Panic Attack  
2) this is a long ass chapter  
3) bon apetite -

It doesn’t sit with him well.

When he realises what happened and what he’d done; what a selfish coward he is, it prompts him to flee.

And flee he does. To one person who’d faced every one of Tony’s songs with patience and yet chosen to stay. Rhodey.

“What did you do this time?” Is how Rhodey greets him when Tony walks into his room.

Lucky for him, he passed nobody on the way to Rhodey’s room. He doesn’t know if he could have passed Natasha’s inspection if he had ran into her. Not even with his trusted sunglasses on. He’s too hurt to hide the wounds.

So maybe there’s not a profitable way out of this mind boggling equation going on between Bucky, Steve and him anyway. Him hurting both of them is not sparing him from any hurt either so why is he doing this? Why the torture?

_Oh._ He paused in front of Rhodey’s door. Because he’s just a passing infatuation, that’s why.

_But!_ His heart shouted at him. _But Steve says –_

And he put a lid on that thought, pushing open the unlocked door.

“Hello to you too, dearest.”

Rhodey fixes him with a flat look so reminiscent of Bucky, Tony’s breath hitches on its way in. He pushes the glasses up his nose stretching his lips into a smile.

Rhodey doesn’t miss it. “Yeah. Hi. Hello. Good afternoon. Now, what did you do?”

Giving up on the pretence, Tony plops on the bed, proceeding to let his whole body fall after a second thought. He still keeps the glasses on, but his voice sounds raw – lacking its faux cheeriness when he speaks. “Why do you always assume I did something?” He doesn’t even try to hide the hurt that slips past those words.

Rhodey gives a sigh before the chair scrapes and he’s joining Tony on the bed, sitting. “Because you have the knack to find me only when you’re feeling like shit -,”

“Hey! I invited you to all my birthday parties.”

“Mhmm hmm, I’m gonna pretend you already know that I’m aware they never did make you happy.”

Tony presses a blunt nail into the pad of his thumb.

“Also you have a tendency to hurt yourself in delusion that you’re protecting other people from the hurt. So, there’s that.”

A sad huff of laughter leaves Tony’s chest. “You’re calling me delusional, honey bear?”

A warm hand lands on his lower thigh, giving a squeeze. “I’m calling you a self-sacrificing idiot Tones, because somebody has to lay it out for you before it’s too late.” Rhodey says softly.

Tony bites the inside of his cheek to keep a threatening sob at bay. But Rhodey keeps talking. “Remember when you thought you were sparing me from Howard’s fucked up notion about how I’m befriending you just for the money by abruptly stopping from talking to me for a week?”

Tony can’t help but snort at the old memory of them in MIT and him avoiding Rhodey like a plague while bawling his eyes out in available private space because he just can’t. All because he knew if Howard finds out about their friendship, he’d try to brainwash Tony, telling him about how Rhodey only befriends him for popularity and Tony didn’t want to hear any of that bullshit about his first true friend. Funny thing was, Howard never said anything, even after he found out… It was all in Tony’s head. “Could have gone longer.”

“I know you would, jerk face.” Rhodey gives a particularly tight squeeze to his thigh. “If I didn’t blast you for it which ended in you crying and spilling everything out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was dust in my eyes, platypus.” Tony grins, eyes closed behind his bright lenses as he recalls back.

Rhodey scoffs. “Sure it was.” Then a beat after, “I’m glad I did though.”

“Yeah.” Tony huffs out a breath. “I’m glad you did too.”

Tony blinks furiously at the green tinted ceiling, eyes burning, threatening to spill big fat tears. His chest wells with uncontainable love for Rhodey and appreciation for the friendship he had kindly – too kindly – bestowed upon Tony. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he would die if he had to give up Rhodey now. It was hardly plausible when they were teen, what more after decades of friendship. He’d die. No exaggeration there.

Rhodey’s sigh brings him out of his thought swirls. And he scoots over when the other man decides to sprawl as well. “What happened, Tony?”

And it’s the softness in Rhodey’s usual gruff tone which undoes him. Like a snap to his too stretched out strings, Tony coils with a shudder, rolling over to his side and into a ball, tucking himself to Rhodey’s warm side.

He doesn’t reach out, keeping his limbs to himself, but Rhodey does.

Throws an arm around Tony and he pulls him in tight. Letting the silence stretch and Tony takes however long he wants to reattach his broken pieces to a somewhat acceptable form – because they aren’t going back to the way were before now. Not after he lost some, no.

-

They make lasagne.

Rhodey does while Tony watches from his stool near the kitchen island. The others are conked out in their respective rooms apparently. Too tired from the mission.

The mission which Tony forgot and forced himself onto Rhodey with no consideration what so ever. He winces out an apology to which Rhodey bats him off.

“Nah. Was too keyed up to sleep so I was catching up on some military stuff anyway.”

Tony takes a sip of the chamomile tea Rhodey brewed for him. “Thought they make you angry.”

“Exactly.” Rhodey huffs, straightening up as he pushes the oven door close, giving him a glance over his shoulder. “So, good timing there. Before I fucking exploded like a bomb – those nasty arseholes and their arse-hollery plans.” He growls, swiping a wet towel over the counter surface and scrunching it up to shake and rinse in the sink.

Tony hums over his mugful of tea. Standing up as Rhodey taps over his shoulder and they head into the living room – probably to pull out one of the classic while Tony pretends like Rhodey never asked him what brought him in while Rhodey acts like Tony’s not avoiding the elephant in the room.

It’ll be fine. Because Rhodey has patience the size of infinity when it comes to Tony. He’ll wait and keep waiting even when Tony’s never going to answer him. It’s fine.

So if James Bond is what they’re gonna marathon while eating their feelings out, then so be it. At least until Tony can sweep up the scattered shards of him into a cage and lock it up – even if takes a sleepless night and an hour of morning shower to do so.

Rhodey will wait with a hot mug of coffee and leather jacket on. So when Tony calls him out for brunch, all he has to do is grab is wallet and get going.

“So,” Rhodey drapes his arms over the head of the diner’s chair he’s seated on. Tony leans back on his as well, the taste of ginger spice tang on his lips still. He sits with his back to the door while Rhodey faces it. It’s the corner booth at the end of a long line of other booths.

It’s Monday morning and nobody else is there except for them, and their grumpy waitress.

They’d placed their orders and Rhodey has been kind enough to wait until their drinks arrived to as the real question. “Steve or Barnes?”

Tony thinks he’d have choked on his drink if it wasn’t already down his pipe. Well, thank Rhodey for that, then. “What makes you think it’s about them?”

Rhodey doesn’t bother with words. He simply stares at Tony until Tony cracks. “Both.” He says, his own voice unrecognizable to his ears.

“I know you’d fall for both, but which one did you hurt?” Rhodey asks, eyes darting just for a brief while over Tony’s shoulder, then back again on him with an intense focus.

Tony almost laughs because has he always been this obvious or is it just Rhodey and him. “Both.” He says, barely keeping himself from wincing. And he decides that it’s just Rhodey and him.

“Jesus, Tony.” Rhodey leans forward, taking a sip from his Moscow mule. Tony stirs the straw in his own virgin Mojito, but refrains from sipping it.

“Why?” Rhodey asks him once he’s finished.

Tony’s vision blurs out as he focuses inwardly, right hand abandoning the straw to rub at his prickling left arm. “You know why, Rhodey.” He heaves a breath in and puts on a smile, shrugging. “I don’t belong anywhere there. It’s them and will always be them.”

Rhodey nods at that, but he doesn’t stop right there. Because he’s smart, and has first handed experienced to Tony’s cut-string act long before anyone has, he asks. “How do they feel about that.”

Guilt clamps up on Tony. He gives an abated shrug. “I don’t know. I left.”

“Okay…, But how do they feel about you? Did they explicitly say that they didn’t want you? Because I don’t personally trust you with interpreting or reading into something. You suck on that front, I’m being honest.” He holds up his hands and Tony scoffs at him.

Drumming on the edge of the table, Tony considers how to word it so Rhodey wouldn’t force him to go back and god forbid, _talk_, to those Brooklyn boys. He takes a peek at his best friend who’s waiting for his answer with shrewd eyes. The drumming gets faster.

“Tony-,”

Fortunately, their grumpy waitress chooses that moment to place their orders in front of them with loud thuds and an uncalled for glares.

They avoided her eyes and as soon as she leaves, Rhodey hisses a whisper, “I ain’t coming back to this place again, dude.”

Tony snorts through his nose, tucking the napkin into his collar. He pretends to be hungry, getting excited at the sight of fries and immediately going for them, hoping Rhodey would forget his question.

Rhodey lets him. Biting into his own double beef patties as he watches Tony munching on half of his fry for an unnatural length of time and he places his bitten burger back on the plate with a grunt.

“Okay. Stop evading and let’s get this over with. Tell me what actually happened that you fled.”

Tony yanks down the napkin with a defeated sigh. It’s good food. The burger looks delectable and the fries are well seasoned but the fact that he cannot even taste the salt takes away the final fight in him. “Steve kissed me and suggested a poly-exclusive relationship with him and Barnes.” He says numbly.

Rhodey’s continued silence makes him look up from the faded edge of the table they’re seated at. Which apparently is exactly what the other man waiting for – catching his eyes and fixing them with a compelling look. “Then, what’s the problem there, Tones?”

Tony chokes on his breath. Words beating themselves dead before they could even come out of him. There are so many things wrong with that –

“Do you not approve of poly-exclusive relationships?” Rhodey prods him gently.

Tony gives a stiff shake to his head.

“What is it, then?”

Feeling the strings inside him stretching back into tense strung things, he swallows back unshed tears and clenches his jaw. “It’s 90 years against barely half a decade, Rhodey. How am I supposed to compete with that? It’s 90 years of one true love, star-crossed romantic shit against a passing infatuation. I won’t hold up.”

Rhodey gawks at him in disbelief before leaning back with his palm to his forehead. He’s shaking his head even as he mutters, “I’m having trouble trying to pick the wrongest thing in this fountain of bullshits you’re drenching me with, Tony.”

“Do you even-,” He starts. Then drop, and tries again. “You do know how dating and relationship works, right?”

Tony scowls at him, already starting to point out that he has years of relationship experiences hanging on his belt – failed, but that doesn’t matter – when Rhodey holds up a finger.

“No. Hear me out. Cause everything’s that’s coming out of your mouth now is insecure bullshit and I cannot tolerate it.” Rhodey glares at him. “You said that Steve suggested a poly-exclusive between you, him and Barnes. Said he kissed you – which clearly meant that he’s _interested in you._ So, what’s your excuse for saying no? Other than- nah, ah,” He stops Tony from interrupting again. “I don’t want to hear about that apeshit excuse of yours about 90 years versus half a decade which you’re basing all your unnecessary – I repeat, completely unnecessary – insecurities about. So give me your other reason, because I’m sure you have more there.”

Tony, feeling incredibly chastised, prepares to deck out one after another. But when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. Oh god, it’s the same fear of Howard judging Rhodey all of over again isn’t it.

Rhodey’s smirk is smug as he leans back in and takes a short sip of his drink. “That’s what I thought.”

Tony presses the pulse under his left wrist and watches as Rhodey takes a big bite of his burger. His own sits right in front of him and his stomach rumbles when he looks at them. The meat looks juicy and the fries are plump and calling after him. Everything is too appetizing all of a sudden.

“You think this would work?” He asks as Rhodey goes for another bite.

Rhodey pauses to give him a meaningful look. “Talk, Tony. Do yourself a favour and go talk to them. Sit. Discuss. Have some heart to heart. Like the rest of us grown ups do. Stop boycotting yourself from being happy.”

Tony runs those words over a few times in his head, picking up another fry and sighing when the salt burst deliciously on his tongue. He gives a nod when he sees Rhodey still waiting for response from him. And he wonders if the leftover lasagne is still in the fridge or the others have already that gobbled up.

-

Natasha greets him with a hug and a murmured, “Steve called.”

Her intelligent eyes take him in and she gives him a tight squeeze to his arm. “You should go back.”

“Wow, Nat. Feeling very welcomed now.” He sniffs, pulling away from her. But she fixes him with a flat stare until he yields and admits, “Yeah. Yeah, I should.”

They send him back with a load full of homecooked meals; Sam made gumbo while Wanda pressed a tupperware filled of something traditional which he can’t get the knack of remembering. Apparently Vision helped her with it.

There’s a new guy; loud and funky, called Scott who keeps mentioning about Hank Pym, but Tony gets ushered out with Nat and Rhodey flanking him before he can ask the guy who he is.

He makes it back in record time. But nobody’s waiting as far as he can tell.

No Steve in the communal area where he usually is. No Bucky anywhere he can see. So, he takes a deep breath, calms himself down and goes to his workshop. Maybe they’ll be there.

-

They are there.

Both of them. Huddled on the couch and from where Tony stands, a step away from the glass panel surrounding the workshop, they seem comfortably intimate.

Steve’s sprawled over the couch while Bucky’s seated. Nothing unusual from every other days except now, instead of Steve’s feet, it’s his head resting atop of Bucky’s lap and Bucky – He has his fingers running through Steve’s neat blonde, and Tony can see from the delicate frown on his face how careful he is, using his flesh hand instead of the metal and hyper focused apparently, in his task to comb through Steve’s hair while the man himself sleeps.

Tony takes a brief moment to appreciate the view from this angle, wistfully wishing to be there with them and he can, in fact, join them. He wants to and he will. He just – He just need a second to gather some nerves and –

Oh.

Tony pauses mid thought, eyes following Bucky as he bends his head down, the curtain of his hair slipping out of the back of his ear in the last second to block the view but Tony’s already seen what there’s to be seen. His already frayed nerves sizzle and he stumbles a step back, almost tripping over his own foot but he gathers himself expertly, spinning on his heels and entering the elevator before he does something painfully embarrassing, like collapsing on his feet in front of his workshop. Despite everything, his mind screams at him;_ you don’t belong there, you don’t belong there -_

-

He realises, when he comes to himself that he’s standing in the Avengers’ communal lab. The one which he used to share with Bruce before Bruce went AWOL. The one where JARVIS’ main console is installed.

Right in front where JARVIS’ main console is installed.

A pang of longing deguts him in the worst way possible. It feels like he’d stepped into a graveyard. Both of the… entities that he associates most with the place gone. Even if Bruce is not technically – hopefully, god – dead, it still feels like it.

Abandoned and ghosted. Except there’s no ghost and Tony genuinely thinks that a ghost will be better to deal with right then, than the deadly silence he’s surrounded by. Playing like a melancholy of a broken heart.

His throat spasms. Aching sharply and it’s the only warning he gets for the impending panic attack. “FRIDAY?” He manages, knees buckling as he goes sprawling on the mess of wires and glass shards, right hand gripping the edge of the console table desperately while he catches his fall clumsily with his left, palm side down, landing on a something shard, tearing a piercing pain down his left arm.

He winces, if he can at all, between gasping for breath.

“You’re experiencing a spike in heart rate, there’s a spike in adrenaline level, boss. The increased in perspire-,”

“Panic – It’s panic – Attack.”

“There is unfortunately no parameter installed in my program to respond according to -,”

“Read something. Anything. Please.” He gasps, taking a particularly sharp breath in that ruckles in his chest. He makes a grab for it with his left hand, distractedly noticing the red that smudge across his white shirt – _of all days_, he berates himself, _to pick the rarely worn white shirt._

Then, he remembers why he’d worn it; a present from Steve as a joke for his birthday. It reads Tin Can Man in bold red and gold with a clunky geometric rendition of the armour laying sideways in a suggestive way and Tony naively thought that it could suffice as an apology for the comment about harassment and rude departure. An olive branch; _‘let’s try again’._

Now though, the mere thought of Steve feels like thorns piercing through and out of his chest. His vision blurs and he struggles to breathe. In the background, he can hear FRIDAY reading up an article about something he can’t bring himself to register because he’s too focused on his triggers: _clear the mind_, he tells himself. _Clear the mind. I’m fine. We’re fine. We’re good. It’s fine._

But everything’s _not_ fine, his traitorous brain supplies. His nose burns from hyperventilating.

“Boss, please. May I call in Captain Rogers or Searge?”

Tony shakes his head sharply, right hand digging into the edges of the console table. His palm hurts.

“Colonel Rhodes, boss?” His baby girl sounds increasingly frantic.

Tony fails to curb the burst of deprecating laughter. Breaths shuddering in effort as he fists his shirt with his bleeding left hand. He’s sorry that she has to see this. He’s so sorry that she’s helpless because he _made_ her so. Tony Stark’s well being was not encrypted to be her priority because he thought it was for the best but he’s witnessing the backlash to that now as he tries valiantly to keep himself upright. She’s panicking herself but it’s just an illusion. She’s a program. Maybe for her best, because that way she doesn’t haven’t to crumble like him; human physiological responses and what other shits, when she panics.

He realises with a clarification that he could die. And she’ll never know how to help him.

“Tony!”

Tony startles, blinking several times to focus at the direction of the voice.

Steve.

Ah. Just when he thought FRIDAY would be helpless –

Steve kneels before him, familiar and promising. He catches another figure – likely, Bucky – moving in the corner of his eyes. “Breathe into this.” Steve passes a bag he grabs from Bucky.

Tony tries to, dammit. He really tries to hold the bag and breathe but his hand is just too shaky and he’s afraid if he lets go of the table, he’ll collapse and –

“Here.” Someone brackets his back, broad and strong, keeping him from falling, while Steve brings the crumpled paper bag – it smells of stale something and dusts, but Tony’s beyond caring – to his mouth.

“Follow my count.” Steve grits out when he cannot peel off Tony’s grip on the table. “Inhale, 3, 4, exhale.”

Tony does so, focusing on Steve’s own rising and sinking chests, on the way he cups Tony’s cheek with one hand steadily while he holds the bag to Tony’s mouth with the other. He focuses on the sharp pain of his left hand, clutching at the table to ground himself to present, and on the warm block of safety supporting his back which he’s sure, where Bucky Barnes is.

FRIDAY’s continuing her reading, Steve’s counting, Bucky’s brushing a hand up and down his back and for a brief moment, he’s afloat; no where and everywhere. He’s dizzy and time blends into one and all his senses are focused externally while his internal ones are in shut down mode. It’s oddly liberating. Tony basks in it for as long as he could get, indulging on his - for once - sound mind.

Steve keeps counting even after Tony’s breathing has levelled out. His voice suddenly feels like a violent jerk out of trance and Tony jolts, scrambling away from him. Or attempts to because he’s crowded with no space and it’s –

He makes a protest sound, yanking himself back but feeling himself colliding with something too warm in the back which makes him jerk away to front but no. There’s Steve there and he doesn’t want to be so close to Steve, his hand flails - the one around his chest - and the tries to stand up, knees continue to buckle in but he’s determined to flee that the cutting ache to his right palm is the last thing he wants to worry about.

He whimpers when Steve reaches to stabilize him. This time, when he backs away, there’s nothing blocking his path, allowing him to stumble gracelessly all the way until he hits the wall – glass crunching under his feet, one foot almost catching around a loop of wire – and he jerks upright violently.

“Stevie,” Someone warns levelly – Bucky - and Tony’s wild eyes find him standing near the exit, both hands up in surrender. Steve stops pursuing Tony, although it makes his mouth twist in displeasure and his shoulders tense uncomfortably as he balls both of his fists by his sides. The way he’s clenching them, like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching out to Tony, looks quite painful and Tony –

Fuck. Tony feels so fucking exhausted he just wants everything to stop.

He wants to stop hurting Steve, and Bucky by proxy. He wants to stop hurting FRIDAY too. But he honestly doesn’t know how.

“I’m just.” He clears his throat, wincing against the sharp burn down his dry throat. He sounds so off even to his own ears. “I’m gonna go to my room.” He manages, swallowing around the sentence then frowning. He doesn’t know if he should thank them for the save, doesn’t know if he wants to be saved at all.

In the end, he doesn’t.

He waits until Bucky clears the path and walks, breathlessly all the way into the elevator, ears ringing as they register the protest Steve barks upon his departure. He tries not to run, especially not when his legs are already feeling dangerously floaty to begin with. He tries to stand until the elevator reaches his floor and then, he tries some more to drag himself out.

He makes it to the couch before he collapses. Chest aching. Throat too. Well just, _everything_ basically.

-

He couldn’t sleep. His body aches and his heart hurts. But they’re not enough to rob him off of his consciousness.

Mostly, he stares at the ceiling trying to pin point everything according to where they belonged. He know for a fact that he was triggered by the console; the thought of JARVIS (a shudder wrecks his spine). The situation with Steve and Bucky, embarrassing as it was, was a common response demonstrated by those who go through panic attacks. FRIDAY pulled up an entire article about that, citing the percentage of that occurrence – highly frequent – and it makes Tony feels better but not the same. It’s still very embarrassing.

He also knows that Steve and Bucky had an extensive shouting match after he left. FRIDAY shared when he asked meekly what they were up to after spending ten minutes, flat on the couch. He didn’t want to know what it was about, even though he kind of knew and now, he doesn’t really know for sure. It’s bugging him slightly. Curiosity doesn’t sit well in his bones.

It also makes him feel guilty, for not thanking them. Because he was an ass, even if it was beyond his control, he couldn’t excuse himself. Not as long as he knew he was conscious enough to consider thanking them before he left. And he only didn’t because he was selfish; he only considered what he wanted. He didn’t think how difficult it must have been for Steve and Bucky, Steve especially, who had put up with him twice in such position where Tony repelled him.

Swallowing back a frustrated groan, he folds an arm over his eyes and asks, “Hey Fri. Are they still fighting?”

“No, boss. It appears that Searge is consoling Captain Rogers.”

“Consoling?”

FRIDAY seems to consider her words before speaking. “Captain Rogers seems to be in distress, boss.”

Tony feels the need to bug her for more information but he knows that FRIDAY filtered her words knowing he would be curious and he doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. Regrettably, he wonders if that’s her way of punishing for causing her distress earlier. Either way, he sits up and decides to check it for himself.

However, his left hand looks like it got tossed into a blender and Tony grimaces at the thought of postponing his venture. He realises that FRIDAY had only suggested once for him to get it looked at. Which he stubbornly ignored. Sucking his bottom lip, he glances up at the nearest blinking red light.

“You mad at me, darling?”

A beat of silence. Followed by a chirpy, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, boss.”

A loose grin breaks out on Tony’s face. Yep. Definitely mad.

He stands up slowly, testing his footings, before heading to the bathroom. His quads throb when he squats down to pull out the first aid kit and he grimaces throughout the rinsing and cleaning of the wound on his left palm; mostly deep pointy stab wounds and some shallow slashes. Hissing, he sprays the alcohol disinfectant with one hand, repressing the urge to stop and fan his left hand while hopping around as if that would ease the pain.

Instead, he presses clean gauze over the fresh wound and starts wrapping a mesh bandage around his left hand. Nipping and the end and tying it up neatly once he’s satisfied with his work. He changes the blood smeared shirt while he’s at it too. Sparing a moment to forlornly gaze about its potential future and ultimately leaving the quest hanging. Now, “Where are they?”

“Where you left them, boss.”

Tony blinks, partly offended but mostly in awe at the amount of sass packed in FRIDAY’s program. He thanks her despite her attitude, marching resolutely into the elevator before he can talk himself out of it.

This time, when he finds the Brooklyn boys huddled together – Bucky propped against what’s left of the wall, hunched protectively over Steve who has nestled his head over Bucky’s chest, knees up to his chest, in foetal position – Tony does hesitate, feeling his skin prickling with discomfort of intruding what clearly looks like a private moment, more intimate than the one he saw in the workshop, but he squares his shoulders and clears his throat.

Steve’s head snaps up to him first, followed by Bucky’s. While Steve looks wildly earnest, Bucky contrasts him by seeming collected and restrained. Tony swallows, unsure of whom to address and settling for Steve because well, it’s Steve.

He’s the kind you have to spell things out clearly. Especially when it comes to Tony, primarily because of the way things had started between them perhaps, or maybe it’s just them, but Tony finds it crucial to explain himself to Steve whenever he does something. Stupid and otherwise. Also, he owes him.

With Bucky on the other hand, it just seems to take the simplest gesture to make him understand. Maybe it’s the spy thing, the way he’s so good at reading people. All Tony has to do is spare a few seconds to look at him and Bucky_ gets_ him; releasing the steely grip he got around Steve as Steve moves to stand up. But Bucky keeps to himself on the floor, limbs more relaxed as Tony turns to Steve; knowing that it’s not his turn yet. _Understanding_, and waiting.

“I urm, sorry about the – the earlier… stuff.” Tony starts, cringing at his inability to construct a proper sentence. He can see Bucky executing discreet movements to adjust himself; tipping his head back to lean against the wall as he regards Tony with the same levelled gaze but more, relaxed, eyes half closed. Nothing is showing through, as he rests his elbows, letting both of his arms hang from his bent up knees.

Steve, who’s response is the one Tony gauges for the most, bristles. “No, no.” He loosens like a limpet, compared to the tense way he was holding himself just a second ago. His fingers twitch when he forces them down from his impulsive move to reach out to Tony and Tony eyes them sucking his bottom lip in.

He wants that.

He wants Steve to touch him. Hold him with those fingers. He wants to feel their warmth, the way they’re always mildly rough from callouses which are meant to disappear due to Steve’s continuously regenerating cells but don’t because he abuses them so much. He wants to hold Steve too. Breathe him in. See if he smells just the same after Tony’s abrupt leave to find Rhodey and memorize it all over again.

He wants to taste Steve on his tongue again. This time, without the twisting guilt around his gut. But he doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t know who Steve is to Bucky now and Bucky is to Steve. Who Tony is to both of them. If they still want him the way they did few days ago. If they already made up with each other, then…

He sighs. He doesn’t know.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Tony. I’m just – It - I mean. It’s hard. For me - I mean, to see you like that, I just – It hurts.” Steve finishes, eyes downcast, voice fading in cracks.

Tony inhales sharply, eyes immediately finding Bucky’s for support. He doesn’t know what to do. He used to hold Steve during times like this. When – Before. But now, he just –

Bucky’s gaze seems to be challenging. Tony’s scared to speak in case his voice breaks. He’d learnt to not trust himself so much post panic attack. His mask has tendencies to slip off so easily it’s embarrassing to call himself a Stark.

He clenches his jaw and balls his fist, keeping his hands from running off the programming in his head. He feels as if his knees are physically shaking from taking a step forward and enveloping Steve in a hug. “Sorry.” He says instead, even if he’s not so sure if he actually is. Voice gravelly rough, trembling at the end of its thread that he can feel Bucky’s eyes burning at the side of his head.

When Steve looks up, big blue eyes so wide and sad, Tony’s broken heart shatters a little more. He shifts his own focus towards the console table, desperate for distraction. Even if said distraction is his trigger itself. “I should probably get this cleaned up.” He hears himself speak from a distant. Suddenly, – all that discussion about poly-exclusiveness he had with Rhodey feels seems to take back stage, standing in the midst of an aftermath that took – That killed – That -

His muscles ache with the familiarity to bring the console to life; just one soft poke at the right button. But he knows he’ll hurl if he does that. There will be no end to that spiral. He needs some time off to gather his head around the reality, wrap it, accept it as the now and _then_, only then, deal with it. It’s time to sweep away denial as blissful as it has been, living in one.

“Do you need help?” When Steve speaks, he’s closer to Tony. Which makes him realise that he has stepped up front, nearing the table unknowingly. But there’s a good two steps separating himself from the console’s button. Tony breathes and looks away. His first instinct is to brush the offer off. He can handle it himself. Always. It’ll probably be easier to pay someone else to do the job and revisit once everything’s erased. It will be like it didn’t even exist.

But.

He cannot do that to JARVIS. He can’t. Not to _JARVIS_.

So he’ll do it himself. One broken glass after another. One loop of wire after another. He’ll pick them all up, crash the entire wall, repaint and make a space out of the place; even if it’s not another lab. And then –

And then, he’ll say his goodbye.

And that. _All that_. May need all the help he can get. Who’s better than a super soldier with super strength after all.

“Yeah.” He nods, turning around to face Steve, who stumbles back a step in hurry as if burnt. “I – Yeah. I need some help.” Tony affirms, momentarily distracted by how closely Steve has been standing behind him. His entire back burns belatedly, and he shamelessly savours the feel, wondering how it would have turned out if – if, Steve hadn’t stepped away in time. If Tony had turned while they were still so close. If -

“Me too.” Bucky Barnes puts a hand up from where he sits, pulling both of their attention to him with an indulgent smirk and who is Tony to deny a second super soldier power. Strength and otherwise, two _is_ better than one.

-

Tony starts by emailing Pepper. Requesting for a week off from all SI related projects. He wants to do this properly.

Steve and Bucky starts by showing up when Tony does, at the lab. “Miss Fri gave a heads up.” Bucky mutters with that distracting knowing smirk he’s been wearing more recently for Tony, as he leans, long and angular along the unhinged door frame. The door, long since gone fuck knows where. Steve gives him a tentative smile while Tony rolls his eyes and unrolls the new lay out of the floor he’d drawn out the previous night.

FRIDAY apparently starts by playing a smart ass where her boss is concerned. Since Tony’s wellbeing is not programmed to be her priority, she has taken the liberty to take into account _everyone’s _wellbeing as her priority. Especially those she personally knows and cares for, and Bucky Barnes has a special spot in her heart, bordering, maybe even topping Tony himself. Tony should have known. She’s his daughter after all.

The thought makes him visibly pause, mid rolling back the paper. It’s a combination of fear and excitement tangled as one and Tony’s heart revisits the 90s. The time when JARVIS had first come to life in the basement of his late Malibu mansion.

“You alright?” Steve asks, dipping his head down so he can look into Tony’s eyes and Tony gives him an unbridled smile. Steve looks adorable. Perfect, and it hurts so good to love him like that. “I’m okay.” He tries not to let his voice tremble.

He turns around to prop the scroll on the cleaner square of the table, effectively moving away from Steve and catches Bucky’s intense gaze instead, which captivates him, slowing him down in motion. There’s some unspoken conversation there, he’s sure; between his own startled ones and Bucky’s twinkling blue-grey eyes. Even if he doesn’t know exactly what they say, it leaves a few knots untangled within him while something calm settles down upon him. He gives the man a small smile. Receiving one in reciprocation.

-

Third day in, Tony’s arguing with Pepper over the phone about the perks of conference calls – holo-screen and all; “- great chance to showcase our products, Pep.” – compared to physically going to Amsterdam and finishing off the deal, while he oversees the delivery guys loading in all the hardware, woods, frames and etcetera which FRIDAY helped him order. The lab had been swept clean. Dust and rubble free after Bucky brought a sledgehammer to clear out the tattered wall (if anything, he seemed oddly liberated after that day). All the wires rolled into a hoop and stored away. What used to be a two separated room is now one large open space which the elevator immediately opens to.

The bare layout is reminiscent of his late workshop in Malibu. His current shop has a glass door for entry and exit and Tony’s satisfied with it. He barely misses the one he had in Malibu; granted all his memories in Malibu comes coated in bitter reminder of both Stane and the blast from AIM which sunk him in along with half of his mansion. So, it’s fine really.

What he sees now with the cleared out floor is, a space for a handful of selected (read: enhanced) bright minds to play in. Science, engineering, bioscience, chemistry, you name it, it’ll be there. If Pepper asks for name, Tony already has one ready in mind. If Pepper asks for two, well, he better starts scouting now, doesn’t he.

“Tony. The date’s after your one week. It’s non-negotiable.” Pepper’s voice is strained over the line. Maybe now is not the best time to tell her about his plans.

“But, I’m not negotiating Miss Potts. I’m merely pointing out the obvious.”

“Yeah, I’m correcting your obvious to boarding a flight 9 o’clock in the morning of 21st September, Monday. I’ll send Happy over. Don’t make me come and get you.”

Tony gawks at the now beeping phone in his hand. “She never listens to me.”

“Who never listens to you.” Tony startles, spinning on his heels and coming face to face with Bucky Barnes.

He stumbles a step back in surprise, phone clutched close to his chest. “You look like you’re seeing a ghost.” Bucky comments, a teasing smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Not a ghost. But well, close enough.

They’ve been working together, hand in hand, spending almost all their hours together. Watching the two super soldiers work their asses off under Tony’s command for a change is, he must admit, incredibly arousing. Especially when he thinks it in line with the realisation that he’s bossing Captain America and the notorious Winter Soldier around; hold this, bring me that, crack the wall snowflake, I need heavy lifts cap, and so on. Sure, Tony’s enjoying himself. But so far, Tony is yet to face only one of them without the other to buffer. It has been merciful as long as it lasted, he guesses. Maybe it’s also merciful that he’s forced to face Bucky Barnes first.

Not that Tony fears facing Steve. But. Okay, yeah. Tony fears facing Steve Rogers alone. It’s just, less complicated with Bucky. He’s easier to deal with when it comes to emotions. Perhaps because both Bucky and him are so good in sprinting past the talks about feelings; hate dwelling and analysing them. A brief sort of, _“You fine with this? Yes? No? Okay, good,” _is their pace while with Steve. Wow. Steve is more extensive and thorough. He likes to know the nooks and crannies of Tony’s emotional well-being. He also lays out his own nooks and crannies willingly in return but damn, it’ll be lengthy and maybe it’s for the best. Because then, they’ll get everything in the light and clear them out for good, while Bucky and Tony’s less lengthy, more fleeting route will only come around and bite them on the arse in the future.

This is why they need Steve.

“Got bored tagging another centenarian?” Tony asks mildly, disguising his nerves by tapping furiously at his phone. When Bucky doesn’t answer, he looks up. Then he remembers – god, it really has been so long since they’ve both hung out together, just them – that, this is how Bucky Barnes communicates. Unless you’re looking at him, he is not saying a word.

“Was wondering what was taking our half centenarian so long.”

Tony tries not to keel under Bucky’s intense eyes. “Excuse you, I’m not even fifty!” He gasps, clutching the phone to his chest.

Bucky raises one eyebrow accompanying a blooming smug smirk. “But you’re ours. Right?”

Momentarily stumped, Tony resembles a fish out of water while the other man’s smirk keeps widening until a grin splits across his face and Jesus. He’s so _sinfully_ beautiful_._ Tony can’t help but get lost in his rare happy glows. The man is just – there’s always something raw about everything that revolves him. Even his exhibition – which he doesn’t do so often – of those emotions are stunningly raw. It makes Tony’s brain go; “_Yep. This here is why you’re head over heels with him.” _And it’s fine. If anything, the Brooklyn Boys made it clear to him that he’s wanted. By both of them. And it’s okay for Tony to want them too.

“You okay there, doll?” Bucky tilts his head sideways.

Tony does a double take. “Doll?”

But the respond is only a form of absent shrug, followed by a chin-jerk which signals him to an approaching delivery employee. “Mr Stark? I need your signature here and here, to confirm the delivery.”

Tony does a quick job of it, startling the guy with a playful threat, “And if I find any items missing, I’m gonna personally find you and leave an imprint of my gauntlet, alright Paul?” When the man blinks, genuinely concerned, Tony pats his arm. “Kidding. Shoo now, I got billionaire stuffs to do.”

“Pretty sure he’s gonna have nightmare tonight.” Barnes murmurs, squinting at the reversing truck. Tony waves a hand over his shoulder, deftly picking a knife from Bucky’s waistband, one of the many places he’d memorised where the soldier likes to hide weapons. The man raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed, and even if he doesn’t say anything, Tony brags soundly, “I know, I’m awesome.”

He starts with the biggest box in the far corner. If he’s lucky – nope, he knows for sure about this probability and it’s a 100% chance of finding the –

“Ah, hah!” He exclaims, picking up the roll of wire. The smell of fresh polyethylene hits him smack and he scrunches his nose, hopping down from the shorter box which he’d made-shift for a step to reach the biggest one. Bucky catches him by the waist when he lands, inappropriately close and Tony thrusts the bundle of wire at his face when heat swarms up his vessels, throbbing. “Hold for me will ya, snowflake. Make use of yourself a little.”

He hears a huffy snort but he resolutely refuses to look, walking towards the elevator, hoping he doesn’t get jumped in between the ride upstairs. Thankfully, Bucky lets him idly fiddle with his phone while he pretends that he’s not being ignored. It’s just… awkward. Tony doesn’t know how to fit himself between them now that he’s incredibly aware that they’ve slotted themselves perfectly by his sides. He doesn’t know where his extra puzzle piece will fit, even if they keep including him in everything they do. Or it’s probably the illusion of it, when really, instead that he doesn’t know, he actually _knows_, but he’s afraid. If that is the case, then he doesn’t know what he’s afraid of. It’s not difficult to let them in, but at the same, it’s not exactly easy to open the final gate and let them both have him, either.

Steve greets them, equally surprised to see the elevator open to reveal them, as they are to see Steve. It’s funny, but none of them laugh. “You going somewhere?” Tony asks. Despite however Steve and Bucky has reconciled, they really don’t talk much with each other. Their communication mainly involve loaded looks and subtle gestures here and there. It’s not very secretive. Doesn’t make Tony feel excluded. Just, fascinating, is all. To see for himself, a relationship that transpired over time; the level of understanding between them and ridiculously, the number of eye rolls and frustrated huffs like age-old married couple.

“I got food delivered for lunch.” Steve smiles, still cautious around Tony, ever afraid to overstep and it’s Tony’s fault entirely for putting Steve in that position. Damn, he really should have a talk with Steve before the man beats himself up broken because Tony – the ever loving fucking idiot - basically, accused him of harassment. He didn’t’ mean a single word of that, merely spewing word out of panic, but the excuse feels incredulously flimsy especially when it concerns _Steve_. But there’s also the fact that Tony hates having the ‘talk’. Hell, he’ll willingly sit through talks about birds and bees for a week in row if he can afford. Not that he knows how that feels, having the kind of childhood which he had - Point is, he’s scared.

“We just received the load, why didn’t you tell, we would have picked them up on the way here.” Tony asks, bravely looking into those bright blue eyes.

“Stevie’s dumb like that.” Bucky mutters from behind Tony, bumping their shoulders as he breaks away from their small huddle in front of the elevator to drop the heavy weight he’s been carrying. Steve glares his way. “Yeah well you failed in math.”

Bucky spins around, stormy eyes hilariously wide in aghast. There’s a quick millisecond in which he spares a nervous glance at Tony before he yells at Steve. “Why do you have to bring that up now?” Exasperated and betrayed.

Tony, who’s the first time witnessing such blasting exchange between the two centenarians, blinks.

“You called me dumb!” Steve protests, his always carefully filtered face twisting to emote with surprising capability which makes Tony feel cheated, for not having seen the full force of Steve’s temper tantrum ever before.

“You were _being_ dumb! Acting scared around Tony when he’s quarter the size of you.” Bucky Barnes accuses, rounding up on Steve with increasingly reddening face.

“Hey!” Tony shoves them both away, since he was literally caught in the middle of two beef cakes. Also, he doesn’t appreciate the snide on his size.

Bucky looks his way, eyes softening in edges and he apologizes with a softer voice than which he used on Steve. “Sorry, doll. But you are tiny.” Tony harrumphs at him, offended.

“Not nice, Buck.” Steve chastises. Which gets him back Bucky’s attention. “Like you don’t like that he’s small.” He rolls his eyes, tearing away from them with a huff. Tony hears Steve sigh and feels the apology coming before Steve opens his mouth. He rolls his eyes too, when Steve does say sorry. Following Bucky’s example, he leaves Steve scratching his head in misinterpreted guilt while he bites a threatening smile off of his face. He knows they’re being particularly mean to Steve but there’s just something so endearing about the Captain America being so gullible. It’s okay, he thinks he has an idea how to make it up to Steve.

-

Tony stays up the whole fourth night, finalising the floor plan and adjusting wires while downloading FRIDAY out of her temporary console and into a more permanent one. Once the hardware jobs were done, the two bull-headed soldier boys refused to leave Tony and fell asleep on the couch they’ve dragged out of Tony’s workshop to bunk in during their small breaks in between never ending work. Idiots fell asleep sitting, both leaning into each other where their heads meet adorably in the middle and there’s a space in between them where Tony often glances surreptitiously, yearning to fit in and steel a short nap as well. But that very thought keeps him wide awake and when he catches Steve stirring, he sees the night had already passed into early morning.

Steve’s sleepy eyes searches for him and when they do find, they crinkle into an adorable smile that pumps Tony’s weak heart so swollen, it aches, but wonderfully. He indulges himself, watching Steve press a kiss to Bucky’s temple and tilts the grumbling Winter Soldier so he’s horizontal on the couch, curling into himself like a cat and Steve tucks the blanket over him with the same soft smile he gave Tony when he found him earlier. The realisation makes hope blossom illicitly in Tony’s gut and he has half the mind to feel guilty but Steve yanks that by the root when he makes his way to Tony, the same sleep-soft dopey smile still on his face, looking so glad to see Tony. It makes Tony want to let him be pulled into a hug before feeling Steve’s pillowy lips on his temple too, like Bucky got to have. Possibly, pull Steve back into the couch, tuck himself between Bucky and Steve and curl into Steve’s chest, feeling Bucky’s steady breaths fan across his nape.

Fuck. Does he want.

Instead, “Jogging?” he asks, when Steve reaches the work table. The man huffs an abashed laugh and nods, running fingers through his hair which are doing an incredible re-enactment of Albert Einstein’s hair do; sticking up in all direction. Don’t know how Steve managed that with sleeping while sitting up, but it’s unforgivingly adorable and Tony doesn’t care for the answer to that mystery. He does a quick check with himself when faraway – even if they actually were fairly new, they feel like it – memory of them jogging together crosses Tony’s mind. Impulsively, he extends the offer because he really does, miss Steve.

Steve’s blue eyes go wonderfully wide before they flicker towards Tony’s mouth. Tony valiantly ignores that, focusing on the man fully as he says, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’d love that.”

He makes a quick trip to his floor for a change of clothes – definitely hoodie this time with the progressively cooling weather – and his running shoes which had only seen one trip so far. When the elevator opens to Steve’s floor, Steve’s already waiting, with a wide grin on his pretty face. Clearly five minutes is a too long time for him; looking fresh as morning glory, like he’d been awake for hours, unlike Tony who had been but looks like he just crawled out of a ditch.

This time, Steve proposes they walk. And he leads Tony through a different route. “There’s something I want to show you.” He says, face an inch away from laughing ever since Tony asked to join him. It makes Tony steal a few secret smiles too, when he’s convinced Steve’s not looking. But when Steve does, he finds that he cannot stop either, feeling giddy on his feet, but the good kind of giddy as he follows the path Steve paves for them. “When I found it, I thought of you.” Steve shares when Tony squints at him suspiciously, upon spotting where they’re heading to. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, because Steve’s good mood is incredibly contagious and he doubts a climb up the hill could dampen it.

“How did this make you think of me?” He pants mid-climb. “Is it a jest at how hard I make you work for?” He bites his tongue, sensing the double meaning belatedly. But Steve simply laughs, “Not the climb, Tony.” He holds out a hand from a few steps above a particularly steep inclination. Tony takes it with a grunt. “Although.” Steve smiles, yanking Tony into his space and taking a polite step back once he’s sure Tony’s on flatter ground. He turns around, continuing the climb, but not before narrowing his eyes at Tony, pink lips curling into a teasing smirk. “You do make me work hard.” Tony sucks his lower lip in, feeling like butterflies have decided to swarm around in his tummy as he huffs a breath and follows Steve quietly, running his words over in his head.

He never thought he’s the type to work people hard when it comes to, well, romantic intention. All his years, he spent being ‘unbelievably easy’, as quoted by many of his partners who wormed their ways into his bed and no further. Perhaps it’s because Steve wormed his way into Tony’s heart first, that he’s holding back the bed from the equation. Afraid if he let, it’ll be a confirmation and with confirmation comes vulnerability and Tony never had good experiences being the vulnerable one in a relationship. Childhood scared him enough. When he was vulnerable without even him knowing because he was innocent and child, Howard made a nasty indent in his heart and that was a lesson enough to traipse past life with armour around his chest 24/7. Now, Steve’s knocking. And following his suit, Bucky is too. But what they don’t know is, Tony has already let them – _both_ of them – in, against his best judgement.

He’s a fool, isn’t he? Or is he lucky? He’s not very excited to find that out, but he’s also very, _very_ tired of fighting.

He sees them and he wants. He sees the way they invite him in; with every hopeful look and gentle smile, they’re welcoming him in and he’s fighting a futile battle against the magnetic pull of both of them combined. His legs are giving away and at this rate, he’s happy letting himself fall, trusting Steve and Bucky to catch him when he does and the scary thing is, he knows they will. They will catch, and they will hold and they will never let go. It’s everything that Tony ever wants when it comes to them, so he decides - watching the sun rise peeling pink out of the sky to paint blood orange that slowly fades into yellow, morning breeze brushing past him and Steve, a warm barricade against the stronger wind on his right - that he’d just let himself fall now.

A set of fingers pressing on the underside of his wrist pulls him away from the now fully risen sun. Tony turns to his right to find Steve holding up a haphazardly arranged oxeye daisies, the sun shining on the right side of his face, shading him golden, contrasting curiously with his Irish pale complexion. He looks unbearably earnest and Tony’s swollen heart bursts with unbridled affection for him. He throws all caution to the wind and tip toes to press his lips against Steve’s surprised ones.

It only takes a brief moment for Steve to collect himself and pull Tony impossibly close as he winds his arms around Tony’s waist and hooks his hands over his lower back; oxeye daisies in one hand as he smiles into Tony’s mouth, locking themselves together, then and there, in the wake of a new day - symbolizing a new beginning - while the sun shines wonderful warm rays down on them and the breeze teases their skin. “I love you.” Tony whispers when they part for breath, lips still tantalizingly brushing but he keeps his focus strained and pinned so he can give Steve the answer he asked what feels like an eon ago. “I love you and I love him. _So_ much that it hurts and I’m so damn tired of fighting.”

“Tony.” Steve blurts, bright blue eyes peering over thick clump of fluttering lashes.

Tony waits, but Steve doesn’t talk. Instead, he dives in for another kiss, sealing their mouths and pressing _so_ close that it feels less like a kiss and more like a promise. Tony welcomes it, either way. He lets Steve calm down, slowly easing the kiss to tease his tongue out, licking shyly at Tony’s lower lip and Tony lets him then _too_. Allows him to have his moment and just take while he gives. Willingly. And it feels good for a change. Compared to all the other times when someone took something from him, when he had to give, this feels perfect. Like it’s meant to happen; letting Steve build a pace and kiss him slow and deep for a long, _long_ time until the sun feels hot on their necks – it feels incredibly good to give Steve that and it chases away the crippling old fear in him. It _liberates_ him, feeling Steve hold him so carefully like he’s afraid he’ll break Tony, but kisses him feverishly like he can’t get enough of him, it feels liberating and he feels a new set of wants blossom within him; the want to give and keep giving himself to Steve. And Bucky too, needless to say. For to think of one is to think of another. But they don’t feel illicit this time, just, natural.

Oh dear, is Tony so fucked.

He laughs at the thought, driving out a chuckle from Steve in response as they _breathe_, foreheads pressed, Steve’s still locking them together but now Tony got his arms in his grasp too, keeping himself steady on his feet with the extra support. He feels so light-headed from happiness he can probably put on a drape and wax poetry and he wouldn’t even feel weird. Steve seizes his silence to pepper kisses all over Tony’s face – jaw, cheek, temple, along Tony’s hairline and back to his mouth before he pecks one on the tip of Tony’s nose, chuckling when Tony scrunches it. “I love you, Tony. I do. I love you.” He murmurs, nuzzling into Tony’s cheek. Tony smiles, for once feeling serene and content. “I know.” He replies. Because he does. He knows, and he finally accepts that he knows and he accepts Steve’s love with it, and it feels astonishingly right to will his way like that.

“Not gonna stop me saying that, though.” Steve smiles, leaning back to look into Tony’s eyes.

“Not gonna stop you.” Tony ducks, pressing a thumb over Steve’s swollen lip just because he can. Steve kisses it and unloops one arm to press the handful of oxeye daisies between their body, garnering Tony’s attention to them. He lets go when Tony wraps his own hand around them.

“They’re weed.” Tony points out, but the wide stretched grin on his face radiates only happiness. Steve presses another kiss to jaw, choosing to let the comment slide. Sometimes, he learnt, it’s better to let some of the things Tony says slide, because he doesn’t always mean them. It’s tricky to pick which one but he thinks, he got the hang of it now, after spending quite some time falling for Tony. It’s not like Tony’s pointing out the fact about weed means he doesn’t appreciate them. Because they’d be a fool after everything they’ve been through in life to not know that it’s the thoughts that always count. Steve thinks, after this, every time he comes across these daises, he’ll always think of Tony and thinking of Tony means –

“Not gonna stop me from giving them to you.” He promises. Tony gives a playful shove, but his grin doesn’t falter; claiming permanence on his handsome face.

“Not asking you to stop.”

-

When they reach the tower, riding the elevator with dopey smiles while Tony holds on to his oxeye daisies with gentleness – one stray one tucked carefully behind Steve’s ear, meant as a joke but Steve only seemed to glow with a flower accessorising him and Tony inwardly melts into a puddle of fondness – they find their Bucky Barnes with face down on the dinner table. Clearly just woken up, he groans, grumbling a set of inaudible words when Tony pets his bed head, affection overwhelming him to the point of breathlessness when Steve kisses his nape as he leaves Tony to coddle Bucky while he starts on breakfast.

With his new found freedom, Tony lets his fingers play with the bird nest that Bucky’s sporting. Reminds him of earlier in the morning, when he saw Steve with his blonde hair sticking out everywhere and wondered how he got that going when he slept sitting upright. He starts to wonder the same when he remembers that Steve had adjusted so Bucky was lying down before they left him.

The mass of morning grogginess lets out a moan when Tony curls his fingers around the long hair over his nape and gives a tug. Another line of mumbled words got out and this time Tony turns to Steve with questioning eyes. But the other man only shrugs, already looking at them from his spot near the sink where he’d clearly gotten out the ingredients for what looks like pancakes before he got distracted by Tony and Bucky. Tony gives him a knowing smirk, running the back of his nails against Bucky’s scalp, blinking in surprise when metal and flesh arm wind around his waist and tug him so his belly can double as a pillow for Bucky’s head to smoosh into. Steve lets out a quiet laugh. Tony aims for a glare in his direction, but he can’t even accomplish that with how wide his own smile is. He can’t help it. The Winter Soldier is fucking _adorable_.

Huffing out a laugh of his own, Tony cups the back of his head with one hand and lets the other smooth out the bird nest, recalling how once Pepper used to do it for him and how good it had felt. Before long, a pair of sleepy grey eyes were peeking up at him beneath long lashes, the sun now a gorgeous halo over Bucky Barnes’ head, shining through the window panels, as if Tony needs a reminder how precious is the person in his embrace is. “Hey, you.” He murmurs, carding back the fallen fringe as Bucky tilts his head back, propping his chin over Tony’s stomach to regard him. Tony brushes a thumb over his brow line, feeling breathless again as the overwhelming affection rushes through him again. The man ducks his head, smooshing it back into Tony’s abdomen and takes a deep inhale before resurfacing; not a single give to a smile on his face but Tony can see the delight sparkling bright in his now awake eyes. “You said yes.” He states, leaning into Tony’s hand when he presses his fingertips, kneading gently behind his ears. “I said yes.” Tony confirms, massaging the shell of his ear with his thumb and trigger finger. He leans down, letting his floating heart guide his path and presses a kiss over Bucky’s forehead. When he pulls back, a soft appreciative sigh responds to his impulse, as Bucky burrows back into Tony’s stomach, mumbling, “Mm, ‘s nice.”

When the smell of bacon is wafting through the air, Tony finds himself seated next to Bucky, letting the man carefully try to tuck an oxeye daisy behind his, basking in the attention indulgently, especially every time Steve looks over from the kitchen with a beaming grin as his eyes take in two of his lovers, his own daisy slotted tightly where Tony put it earlier. He gets six daisies slotted in between Bucky’s longer strands in the meantime, letting out unmanly giggle – nose scrunch and all - each time he succeeds tucking one in, simply because it’s joyful and it makes Bucky glare at him harder. Never once in his life has he ever dreamt of this scene he’s neatly stitched into, but neither has he ever dreamt of loving two souls, yet, here he is; immensely grateful and unabashedly embracing happiness as it envelops him. When he goes for the seventh, Bucky catches his hand swiftly and twists just so, not hurting but enough to allow him to disarm Tony and pull him from his seat and onto his lap. Tony falls into Bucky’s arms with a gasp, groaning when the man bites the skin beneath where his jaw meets his ear playfully and murmurs his complain into Tony’s ear; low and gruff voice, fanning hot breath over the sensitive skin there, “Your hair’s too short.”

Tony wiggles out his hand from Bucky’s metal ones, using it to tuck the seventh daisy behind his empty ear. “Excuses, snowflake.” He kisses the shell of said ear, smiling when Bucky noses down his throat, breathing him in.

“I feel left out.” Steve interrupts with offended tone, eyes squinting but the grin is still outstretched, revealing his perfect teeth. He slides two plates of breakfast with pancakes, bacons, eggs and cut fruits on the table swooping in for a quick peck to Tony’s upturned mouth when he looks up.

“If you’re not so keen on playing mom, you won’t be feeling that.” Bucky calls after him as he walks away to collect a third plate, balancing three mugs in another hand as he returns. “

If I don’t play mom, you’ll be starving.” He makes a face at Bucky, carefully placing the plate and mugs before kissing Bucky’s awaiting mouth, stealing a daisy from his hand and perfectly slotting them behind Tony’s in one try. Bucky squints darkly at the flower, clearly feeling betrayed. Tony seizes the distraction to slip back into his own chair while Steve picks the seat opposite them, pushing one of the plates and a mug of black coffee in Tony’s direction. Tony says his thanks and starts on his meal, stomach already rumbling in hunger; his two Brooklyn boys following suit, re-enacting another normal morning in the tower. Except that it’s not. It’s a beginning of something new and Tony feels it in his beating heart.

-

They repaint the patched up wall pale yellow. Tony thinks its bullshit but Bucky won the bet and he got to choose the colour so whatever. Steve laughs when Tony chastises Bucky for getting paint on his metal arm; grumbling as he carefully wipes them off with thinner all the while Bucky lounges on the couch, stacking his super soldier stomach with two boxes of meat lovers’ pizza. Steve’s joy at other’s expense doesn’t last for so long when he drops an entire saucy slice all over himself before the pizza slides smoothly down and lands with a wet plop on the couch. He winces as Tony takes a long deep inhale, Bucky coolly rolling his eyes and calling Steve an idiot.

As he watches Bucky fuss over Steve’s ruined shirt and couch, Tony remembers spilled tahini sauce in car; the first time he ever had a full conversation with Bucky Barnes. The miles they’ve come; between Bucky and him, Bucky and Steve and just Bucky, himself. It’s hard to not feel proud over his progress. It’s been a long time too, since FRIDAY alerted him to Bucky on the rooftop and he doesn’t wish that streak to break, ever. As for baking nights, he can do with a lot of that. He likes them. Maybe after all this mess is settled, they can have a cake together.

-

“Okay.” Tony exhales. He takes one more look around the floor; now cleared out and repainted. All the rubbles swept away, dusted off and the wires rolled and hidden under new flooring. It’s been six exhaustive days, but it’s worth it to stand free of the awful memories, the only reminder being JARVIS’ broken console; what marked the beginning of Ultron will now be the end of Tony’s lone ranger days. Somehow it fits. In his mind, he sees the clear correlation between his loneliness; habitually making executive decisions without remembering that it’s a team, that he’s not alone and the result of desperation born out of that was Ultron. Now, standing between Steve and Bucky, his heart free of thorns, and weightless; being reminded of how he’s not alone with every step he takes – Steve’s hand brushing comfortingly over his left and Bucky’s cold metal one over his right – he feels ready to finally say his goodbye.

He couldn’t say a word though. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to, even if he waits an eternity to reach here. But Steve does it for him. Just a simple murmur of ‘thank you JARVIS’ and it’s enough. JARVIS was an AI, yet he was more than that, and even if Tony couldn’t outright tell him how he loved him so, he presses the ‘delete’ button in the assurance that JARVIS always knew. He was brilliant like that; like father like son.

“Well. That was anticlimactic.” A gentle squeeze to his right hand reminds him to breathe and he exhales.

“The first time I shot someone I expected them to fly off the ground like they showed in the movies.” Bucky recollects, metal fingers worming themselves in between Tony’s own, twining. “Fella just dropped dead. Wide eyes, mouth opened -,”

“Buck!” Steve admonishes, hissing under his breath.

Tony however, turns to Bucky with a brave smile on his face. “Jarvis would’ve liked you too.” Bucky tugs him into a half hug and he goes, butting his head under Bucky’s jaw with a sigh, allowing himself a minute of weakness before Steve starts folding in. He pulls away, still ‘smiling’ – feels like his muscles have frozen that way, pulling a grimace more than a smile, but he can’t stop. “Okay, alright. There’s that. Done and dusted.”

“Tony -,” Steve begins, but Tony cuts him off, swallowing painfully against the lump of tears lodged in his throat. “Nope. I’m not fine.” He says, feeling himself cringe at the admittance. But that’s good right? First step to everything and all –

“I’m thinking Star Wars marathon and lots of take outs. From every kind of culture.” He nods decisively, turning the tight smile to Steve.

“What’s Star Wars.” Bucky asks lowly, effectively distracting Tony from his grief as he gapes and proceeds to nerd-babble all about the universe, tugging the poor fella to the elevator, but not before Steve presses a kiss above his ear, and murmurs a quiet, ‘Love you’ into his hair.

It’s fine, Tony figures. It doesn’t hurt so much, he didn’t even hyperventilate. Give or take a few hours, he’ll be able to forget the feel of the ‘delete’ button under his fingertip.

Sandwiched snuggly between two super soldiers, munching on dumplings dosed in tahini sauce and butter chicken wrapped pizza rolls as he entertains his centenarian boyfriends with tid bits on his favourite universe , he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the end. this entire chapter makes two whole ones but i'm officially done with this story so, chapter 10 will be an epilogue, just rounding things up. which i'll post next friday as usual. if anyone has request for anything, let me know in the comments. i'll try to add them if appropriate. ;) thank you sticking around with this story by the way. Love them comments and enthusiastically expressed frustrations, as always XD  
P;s// i never touched on how bucky/steve reconciled assuming that they patched things up while tony was away with rhodey, and since this story revolves around tony's perspective, it would be weird. buuuut i'm open for opinion, lemme know whatchu think anyway.


	10. La Vie en Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all those times Tony spent wondering how on earth he will ever fit in between Steve and Bucky, lying flanked by his clingy Brooklyn Boys that have octopus limbs and a huge propensity for snuggling and cuddling, Tony has never felt more belonged there than he had anywhere else in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epilogue

“You’re a monster.” Tony grumbles, stepping out of the meeting room, feeling exhausted to his bones.

Behind him, Pepper follows, the click clack of her Jimmy Choo echoing down the hallway they set onto. “Say it one more time and I’m gonna cancel your flight,” She threatens.

Tony turns his betrayed face at her. “Couldn’t see me happy for once, could you?”

Narrowing her eyes behind her coffee cup, she whacks him with a folder. “Ow.” Tony hisses. “I don’t deserve this. I could have been having sex with my two hot boyfriends if it wasn’t for you. And yet, this is how you show your gratitude!?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Thanks to me, you’re also now a billion dollar richer. But of course, sex is more important -,”

“Sex is important!” Tony interrupts her huffily.

She glares. He glares back just as hard. Giving in with a snort, Pepper pushes to turn him around and gives a nudge. “Go, then. You’re wasting time talking to me when you could be halfway to them for sex. What kind of boyfriend are you, Tony?” She has to whisper yell the final words after his running form, but it’s worth it when he flips a finger over his shoulder at her.

He is right. Right and frustrated to have been awaken before dawn, tucked snuggly between two super soldiers because Pepper decided to remind him about his flight to Amsterdam. That was two days ago. Two god awful days which he could have spent rolling around in the bed having raunchy sex with his boyfriends. God, _boyfriends_, he thinks with a giddy grin as he boards the jet. He still can’t believe it, but it’s real. His reality is that he has two insanely gorgeous men who love him for whatever reasons they deemed him worthy for, waiting for him to come back and boy, is Tony excited to go back to them.

He barks a laugh when he sees Bucky’s latest text; a snap of Steve sleeping with his mouth open with his sketchbook flattened over his chest in the workshop couch. Bucky’s been texting him minutely while working with his motorbike. He said something about final assembly and Tony’s anticipating the reveal. The last he saw, Bucky was still perfecting the muted purr of his engine. He wonders if he had finally tweaked it to fit his taste.

They alternated between sending him pictures and bickering; mostly Steve and Bucky, like two children while Tony sent an array of emoticons in response. The last message from Steve was shot of oxeye daisies clumped in a vase with the bright yellow of sun spilled over it. It’s taken in his workshop, the vase propped on his work desk. It said, _we miss you_, followed by Bucky’s;_ I miss you more, _that pinged an hour after. That opened into a new line of childish bickering between them while Tony had been too involved in the meeting to check his phone. When he did, during the lunch break, he tried not to keel over from the wave of fondness he felt for his two doofus.

They hadn’t been subtle either, outright telling him that they’re spending most of their time in the workshop because _‘you’re not here, idiot’ _as how Bucky phrased it, eloquently. Followed by Steve’s; _Bucky!, _then Buckys; _I’m right here, fight me._

Basically it’s the best kind of chaos Tony had ever been involved in in a group chat. The best.

Sending, “Home in eight hours,” he lengthens his seat and tucks in for a much needed shut eye.

-

Tony reaches home around dinner time; half past seven, and this time, much to Happy’s content, he lets the man drive him back home. He yells at him to stop when they passed by a florist, Happy screaming around the screeching tires and after a few minutes of shouting at each other, Tony wrestled his way out of the car and into the shop to order a large bouquet of red roses; he’s running on impulses. He doesn’t even know if Bucky and Steve likes flowers, but he feels like getting them one and he gets them one. Then he spots a matte black motorbike helmet with intricate silver design on display in a shop opposite the florist and he thinks, this is it; this is the thing for Bucky.

Happy drops him at the back door with a helmet tucked under his arm, a too big bouquet in his other hand that keeps hitting his face every time he flexes his wrist and his luggage at his feet. He struggles to get himself and everything else into the elevator; abandoning the luggage for a later trip with exasperation when he got too lazy to haul it in. FRIDAY tells him Steve and Bucky are making dinner in the communal kitchen. She also tells him that they don’t know he’s here yet.

“Can we keep it in hush, darling?” He asks her.

She indulges him with a chirpy reply; “My pleasure, boss.”

She goes to the extent of silencing the elevator’s ding upon his arrival at the communal floor. He shoots a grateful smile at the blinking sensor overhead, music spilling in as soon as the door opens, and he steps out as silently as he can, careful to not crinkle the paper wrapped around the bouquet or clumsily drop the helmet tucked tightly to his side. He sees them both behind the counter, Bucky making a quick work of the knife, albeit impressive, it’s not what stumps Tony, keeping his feet frozen in front of the elevator.

Instead, it’s the sight of Steve, moving his hips clumsily as he stirs something over the stove, pausing to do a spin, crowding in on Bucky and mockingly singing the words aloud to Frank Sinatra’s L.O.V.E into his ears, completely off tune and there’s more laughing than there is singing but he’s relentless even as Bucky elbows him and constantly bats him off, grumbling but a smile threatening to split across his face. Tony blinks, then blinks again as he watches Steve messily sliding up to the stove to pick up the spatula and belting ‘you’ with it pointed at Bucky.

“He’s gone crazy.” Bucky says aloud, looking up directly at Tony and grinning while he continues to mince whatever it is. Steve splutters, blushing bright red as he scratches the back of his neck with the spatula holding hand. Bucky rolls his eyes, leaves his station to yank the utensil from Steve’s hand and turns off the stove. He’s got mischief in his eyes as he stalks up to Tony; overhead, The Way You Look Tonight by Sinatra picks up from his last number.

Tony laughs as Bucky pries the gifts from his hands, yanking him forth until he has enough space to lead Tony in a soft sway of dance at ‘yes, you’re lovely’ with a press of kiss to his cheek. He’s tall and sturdy, embracing Tony in his arms. Tony notices how he’d switched the all black to a white tee and a pair of blue jeans. With his long hair in a top knot, he looks gorgeous. He kisses Tony on the mouth and twirls him. When Tony laughs, his nose wrinkles just in time to Sinatra’s lyrics. Bucky twirls him two more times before spinning him into Steve’s awaiting arms, the song slowing down just as Steve sways him lazily, slotting his mouth into Tony’s still laughing one.

“Welcome back.” He murmurs into Tony’s ears. His blue eyes half eaten by his pupils and they crinkle as he smiles at Tony, large hand pressing to his lower back and another wall of warmth is all the warning Tony gets before getting sandwiched into a hug. Bucky nips on the shell of his ear, mumbling something about dinner. The sway quietly to another song, slow and melodic which Tony has a hard time to remember its name; all three bodies pressed tight as they breathe and shift from one foot to another, wrapped around each other.

“I got roses for Steve.” Tony sighs later, nose buried in the crook of Steve’s neck as he breathes him, one hand running up and down over his back and one, holding onto Bucky’s metal hand curled around his side.

Steve tips his chin up for another kiss before peeling away, letting Bucky wrap both his arms around Tony’s midriff as they watch him pick up the bouquet and give it a sniff. “Thank you.” Steve grins, swooping in to kiss Tony on the cheek and Bucky over his buried head in Tony’s neck. “Dinner’s gonna burn.” He parts, walking back into the kitchen with the bouquet in his hand.

Bucky props his chin over Tony’s shoulder and calls, “I off-ed the stove, Stevie,” snorting when Steve spins on his heels to poke a tongue out at him. Tony laughs, Bucky humming and going back to pressing his mouth over Tony’s shoulder. “Nothing for me?”

Tony scoffs, peeling his arms wound around his midriff, “What do you take me for, snowflake?” He asks, tugging him by his hand to where the helmet stands propped on the coffee table.

“For me?” Bucky asks, eyes widening in delight as he picks it up to inspect.

“What do you think, I like carrying helmet around?” Tony asks huffily even as he smiles at the way Bucky runs careful fingers over the silver linings, a small smile pulling up on his handsome face.

He places the helmet carefully on the coffee table and cups Tony’s cheeks, pressing a deep kiss that leaves them both breathless. “Thank you, love.” He says, foreheads pressed and his smile split into a grin. “Anytime,” Tony exhales, just as Steve shouts for Bucky from the kitchen to hurry up and finish chopping the carrots.

Bucky rolls his eyes but drags Tony along as he makes his way back to his station, Tony stopping by the dining table to discard the jacket and roll up his shirt-sleeves. Steve joins him to place the roses he’d arranged into a huge glass vase in the middle of the table, swiping a hand across Tony’s stomach as he mouths along Tony’s jaw and says, “Come help.”

Tony follows him gladly, three of them working in tandem to put dinner on the table and feast on them until full. They laugh, they talk and the banter. When La Vie En Rose by Louis Armstrong plays, Steve takes Tony’s hand for a dance as Bucky sits back watches with a smile on his face that would have never come as easily once upon a time. After, Steve bugs him to teach them all Lindy Hop while Tony asks FRIDAY to play them songs appropriate for that.

Later, when Bucky gives in and begrudgingly guides Tony and Steve to dance only to give up not a minute after, all three of them end up merrily hopping around, bumping into each other until Steve with his two left feet trips, bringing Tony and Bucky down with him. Much, much later, they fall again – all three of them, like toppling domino pieces - only this time, on a bed with bated breaths and more skin than shirts. Only this time, it’s sinful, right and blissfully perfect.

For all those times Tony spent wondering how on earth he will ever fit in between Steve and Bucky, lying flanked by his clingy Brooklyn Boys that have octopus limbs and a huge propensity for snuggling and cuddling, Tony has never felt more belonged there than he had anywhere else in his entire life.

-

The day Bucky finishes his bike; painted matte black with silver patterns matching his helmet, he takes Tony for a ride. They spend hours on the road, Tony glued tight to his back, feeling warm enough to not shiver in the autumn wind, as Bucky paves the path, a smooth ride to a poppy field where they spend some time just sitting in silence before they journeyed back home. It’s a trip that eats an entire day; if Steve wasn’t out on a mission, they both would have felt guilty for leaving him behind.

When Steve comes home, he tackles Bucky into a headlock and bullies him to teach him build one for himself as well. It isn’t an easy task to bring the winter soldier down so it’s really Bucky who indulges Steve with that satisfaction while Tony argues himself out of another long business trip with Pepper. The next day, it’s like babysitting two children as those two bicker about engines and designs for Steve’s new bike while Tony works on his projects; good thing that Tony’s already mastered how to be oblivious to his surrounding otherwise he would seriously consider kicking them out.

It’s a good thing; the idea of Bucky helping Steve build a bike. Tony sees how they bond over something they love, sees how Bucky loosens enough to have heart to heart talks with Steve, and Steve in return, how the bickering eases out and they work in tandem like a well-oiled machine. Tony thought, being Steve and Bucky and how easily they got along with each other, they must have gotten over that phase where you lay your heart out. But apparently, being Steve and Bucky, best friends since childhood, grown up in the 30s; while they can easily understand each other in the lack of syllables, just toss away all their issues one day and start where they’ve left, kiss and make up to say the least – it’s not really easy for them to open up and talk issues like Tony does with Rhodey. Even with Rhodey, it’s difficult, so Tony cannot imagine how it must be for those two centenarians.

It’s a generation thing, Tony thinks, because otherwise, it’s just nonsense. It reminds him of how Howard was; bottled up emotions and all that ‘man up!’ phrases. And he remembers how it has been with Steve too in the beginning. How he was so wrapped up in his own skin, no cracks on his walls and so hard to unwrap him until – well, until after Ultron and Steve found Tony in his childhood mansion and Steve, sweating bullets and feeling so guilty, told him how he doesn’t want to go on a mission. He remembered how Steve acted then; small, like a child, shaking. Steve doesn’t open up but he did with Tony that day and it was all that made the difference.

Bucky too, with his one word replies and short sentences. He hadn’t meant to open up until Tony caught him on his worst moment, when he was most vulnerable and his damn broke and all of him spilled. Bucky hadn’t meant for that to happen but Tony neither. It was an accident, but it also made all the difference. It made Bucky slowly let his guards down after that. But –

Steve and Bucky. Tony truly believed that they probably had talked it all out in Tony’s panicked absence but apparently, they hadn’t. But it wasn’t so… visible either. They compensated that with the way they’re so easily physical in the relationship; tousling, tackling and mostly arguing like children with each other. In fact, Tony would have continued believing it, if he hadn’t tried to sneak up on them while they were in the gym.

It looked like they’d just finished sparring, Bucky flat on his back on the boxing ring while Steve sat with his knees up next to him while he asked numbly, “How could you ever think that about me?”

At that point, Tony didn’t know what he was hearing. He had the choice of walking away but it had been a little more than two months in their relationship, Tony still has this tiny remnant of ‘I don’t wanna get left out’ lingering in the back of his mind. Also, he wanted to know what Steve was referring to and what Bucky’s answer to that.

“I wasn’t thinking.” Bucky sighed. “I thought you were happy with Tony and I told myself it’s for the best. Then I saw the way you look at me, like you want me, and I don’t know why you would do that when you have someone so – someone like Tony. By the time I realised that you and Tony were not really together, I’d already convinced myself that what you’re looking in me is the shadow of who I was, in the past.” He paused. Tony swallows as he listens to Bucky’s humourless chuckle. “Then I went and fell for him and you know what that idiot said?”

Steve asked, “What?” Just as breathless as Tony felt.

“He said, Steve loves you, no matter what.”

“He’s not wrong.” Tony heard Steve reply and he feels a sort of certainty settle within him. He wasn’t lying when he said that to Bucky that night, but at the same time, it hadn’t been within his right to be Steve’s voice. So, to hear Steve agree with him vocally, feels like a relief whether he expects it or not.

Bucky snorted. “I know that now.” There’s a long moment of silence that follow that in which Tony gathered himself to turn around, leave those two to whatever they had been up to before he planted himself like a bug to their wall. But as soon as he turns, he hears Bucky call, “You can come in, you know,” and Tony felt his entire body burst in flame as he wrinkles his face at Steve’s snort.

They’d known! They had fucking known! Those bastards.

Since then, he’d caught them often in the midst of hushed conversations. Each time, they usher Tony in, be it Tony wants to contribute or just slot himself in between them, doing his own thing while they continue reminiscing old memories or an array of “I thought you –,” and “Why did you -,”. Most times, Tony try to not force himself between them, even if smile invitingly, sometimes, he knows it’s their battle and they have to work it out between them on their own so he tells them that. And it’s okay. It’s fine, as long as they keep communicating instead of canning everything up and end up bursting one day.

He doesn’t know if that will ever happen and if it does then what he’ll do, but as for now, they’re all trying from their respective ends and so far, it’s working. As for the rest, they’ll cross that bridge when they come to that.

Steve both expresses his distress and seeks his comfort in abundance of physical contact; he either curls like a cat around Bucky on the couch or pulls Tony into random long hugs until whatever bothering him wears off and he feels better. Tony especially, doesn’t mind it, since he too, as much as he likes to deny it, thrives from those random hugs. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even realise he’s having a hard day until Steve forces him to cuddle with him while Bucky stress bakes something which will fill them up for three tea dates. Funny how Tony once thought Steve was allergic to touch.

At some point, he thinks they’re like three old people in relationship, and then things get hot and heady and the stamina his two boyfriends have proof that they really aren’t. They’re gentle when and where necessary but mostly, just shameless. The fervour with which Steve and Bucky bicker transcends to their bed, and they’re doting; taking turns to proof who’s the best in pleasuring Tony. Sometimes it’s sweet, sometimes, borderline filthy. Tony gives back as good as he takes. Where the boys have endless energy, Tony has myriad of experiences he’s eager to share. Come, push or pull, they make a beautiful mess of three on the bed.

One day, Tony fits Steve into an upgraded armour, he takes a step back and as he looks Captain America in the eyes, he feels a longing weight drop down his gut. “Is it too late to step back into the armour?” He asks faintly, feeling his head spin with infinite possibilities all at once, like a straining impulse. But all comes with a good feeling in his gut. He misses it. He misses the action, the feel of wind whipping against his armour and the fucking debriefing of all things. He misses being Iron Man. This feels like an impulse but it really isn’t because Tony _had _longed, _had_ missed, every time he sees Steve come back home from another mission. It has been there all along but Tony had always shoved it away. Until -

Steve’s eyes widen, but only for a fraction of a second before a grin splits across his cowl hidden face and he doesn’t even hesitate to lift Tony into a hug. “No.” He exhales. “Absolutely not.”

Tony laughs, already thinking about the long abandoned nanites based schematics he has stored in his private files. His brain is already running all the maths as if he hadn’t seen it for months when he hears a rumble of disgruntled; “I disapprove,” in the background.

Steve lets Tony down, both of them turning to face Bucky elbow deep in Tony’s Mustang. He isn’t even looking at them, grunting as he pulls his arm out to wrist only to thrust it back in again. “I’m not letting you out of sight.” He says, tossing a glance at Tony over his shoulder.

“Bucky -,” Steve starts just as Tony opens his mouth to defend himself, but Bucky shuts them both down with a metal hand shoved up in the air. Sighing, he pulls his entire arm around, grabbing a grease soiled cloth to clean as he turns to regard them both. There’s something about the way he looks that tips Tony off and he perks up, grinning wide. “How’d you like your armour, Winter Soldier?”

Beside him, Steve lets out a surprised gasp, but Tony’s already pulling up projections, starting a new file under the name of Winter Soldier. The answer, when it comes, is to his immediate left; “Black and scary.” Tony turns around with a smirk, just in time to see Steve kissing Bucky breathless and he says, “Done and done, snowflake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fin.  
thank you for sticking by for those who did. <3 <3 <3 always.  
this fic now has a [tumblr](https://anthonyed.tumblr.com/post/190038630747/title-out-of-reach-relationship) post, share if you like :)


End file.
